Remember The Four
by Sapphire Warrioress
Summary: In the depths of the ocean, beneath the earth, in forest glades and in Narnian skies, their tales and memories are honored and shared by their subjects.
1. Chapter 1 Tumnus

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C. S. Lewis. I'm just writing this for fun.

The first snowfall of winter blankets the ground, as I travel back to my cave deep within the Narnian forest.

Beside me walks my wife, strong and graceful, leading our firstborn by the hand. She is only 4 winters old, and already her resemblance to her mother is talked of amongst the animals of the forest.

She is named for a queen, the best and most loyal of friends, with a faith in Aslan that often brought hope and strength to those seeking the king of kings. My daughter is called Lucy, in loving memory of the friend I cannot forget.

Stillness surrounds us, for the trees and their guardians have sought their rest during this final season of the year. Even the birds are silent, speaking in quiet whispers.

I know why.

It is here, where they first came to Narnia, that many pause on this frosty winter morn. For it was on this day, many winters ago, that the four left us.

Some come and stand in thoughtful silence recalling treasured memories. Others come to encourage and strengthen friends of the four, offering what comfort and reassurance they can.

I come to mourn, to wish for what can never be. The return of my beloved friend and queen, the Valiant and youngest sister called in her world Lucy Pevensie.

I have moved past the first shock of loss and grief, even married and begun a family, but her memory still lingers in the deepest part of my being.

I can hear her voice, in the music of the wind and forest. Hear her laughter when her favorite dance or tune is sung.

But most of all I remember the warmth of her friendship, begun in this place long ago named Lantern Waste.

The shock and surprise on her face when I told her where she was, the wonder and excitement filling each word and gesture as I led her to my home.

The joy she took in my hospitality and food, devouring whatever I set before her with the enthusiasm and appetite of youth.

Her delight in my music and stories, the shock as I revealed my true purpose, and our hurried journey back to this very spot.

I remember my determination when brought before Jadis, not to disclose anything that would lead to the capture of the four.

The terror, as that false queen raised her wand, preparing to make me another statue to adorn her accursed castle.

My joy and astonishment, when Aslan restored me to life, and I looked into the face of the one I had so often longed to behold with awe and gratitude.

How proud I was, on that day when I crowned my friend. She was first of the four monarchs to receive that delicate circlet, and wore it with grace and dignity until the day she left us with her kin.

I remember the others, each a skilled and wise ruler in their own right.

King Peter, the protector of Narnia, with a love for his siblings all shared in and understood.

Narnia could not have asked for a more devoted warrior. From the beginning of their reign, he strived to seek out and destroy the remnants of Jadis's army, and to protect Narnia's borders against invasion.

Whether in times of peace or of war, Peter watched over his second homeland, learning to love its people, share in its traditions, rejoice in times of laughter, and mourn when a friend or subject was taken to Aslan's country.

King Edmund once called traitor, given the title The Just by Aslan himself. Never did a son of Adam work so hard to live up to that description. Though it took me years to come to that realization, we eventually formed a strong friendship and understanding due to the sufferings we endured at the hands of our greatest enemy.

It was he who pointed out to his brother that not all who followed Jadis were corrupted by her influence and teachings, that they had lives and families apart from the service rendered to the false queen. Because of these words, many were spared the sword if they could declare they took no part in Jadis's reign of terror, and went on to live under the rule of the four in peace.

Queen Susan was truly worthy of her title. Tall and gracious, it was she who saw to the practical details of ruling Narnia when her siblings were occupied with other matters of state.

Whether it was a visiting dignitary, a dryad concerned over the quality of her fruit, or a talking squirrel inquiring about the rights to a walnut grove, she treated all with gentle courtesy and respect.

And Lucy, my dearest friend. She was Narnia's song of joy and hope. She reminded all who knew her of the simple beauty of life, of the choice to value each day as Aslan's gift to his children, and the music of his creation which was always there to hear.

She was valiant, courageous, loyal and faithful, a true queen of Narnia and my closest friend.

Sara touches my shoulder, silently asking if I need more time. For a moment I cling to her, drawing strength from her unwavering support and love. Aslan be praised and thanked, for sending her to me when I was in need. She is more than my wife, she is my friend and fellow Narnian, with a quiet dignity and deep faith in our creator great Aslan.

Together we turn away from the lamppost, Lucy clasping Sara's hand, and continue our journey home.

She is too young at present, to realize why I come here once a year, to remember and seek comfort from Aslan. When she is older I will tell her, of the rule of the four with its triumphs, joys, and sorrows, and the friendship of the girl from Spare Oom who I know I will someday meet in Aslan's country.

_Authoress's note: Perhaps this idea has already been developed by another author, if so I haven't come across it. I thought it would be _fun_ to write short one chapter stories from the point of view of _various_ Narnian creatures, sharing their memories and reactions to the departure of their kings and queens._

_I will probably write stories which cover events or viewpoints from all 7 chronicles._

_If anyone has ideas for characters they'd like me to include let me know._

_Feedback is appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2 Nora

They all looked so lost and bewildered, on that first morning I set breakfast before our four monarchs.

I will never forget the surreptitious looks of silent inquiry, and encouragement each cast the other across the table during that first meal at the Cair.

They were children, given the task of governing Narnia by Aslan, and at that moment unsure of whether or not they could carry the weight of a kingdom with equal grace and wisdom.

Queen Susan sat stiffly, with the look of a person who is about to enjoy her last meal.

Nevertheless, she offered me a watery smile as I set a dish of fruit before her, one I returned in the hopes that she would understand that all of Narnia was just as apprehensive as its eldest queen.

We had all lived under the rule of Jadis for so long, that it would take time for everyone to grow accustomed to the rule of four who were just beginning to learn about their nation.

They had our respect and gratitude, but only time would prove Aslan was right to have chosen these four to govern the world he had sung into existence.

Queen Lucy smiled nervously and thanked me for my efforts in the kitchen, asking my name as she accepted a serving of eggs.

"Nora my queen."

"Have you family at the castle good my cousin?" King Peter asked with polite curiosity.

"No milord, I'm alone."

"My thanks for your service, Lady Nora." The comment came from Edmund. For a moment his eyes met mine in silent understanding. He knew what it was to be alone, to feel as if hope has forsaken your heart and will never return.

I nodded in silent acknowledgement of their thanks, and returned to the kitchen to begin preparations for the noon meal.

Never could I have predicted the impact these four were to have on my life. I thank Aslan for sending them to my beloved Narnia, for the freedom they brought from that endless winter, the wisdom and courage each displayed as a king or queen.

But most of all, I thank the great lion for the gift of their affection and friendship, which filled an emptiness within me I did not even know existed until their coming.

I wanted to help, to find a way to make these four feel that there was someone they could always come to who would listen, and offer what support they needed.

Of course they had tutors and instructors in all of the necessary skills for running a kingdom. Strategy, dance, diplomacy, weaponry, history, politics and music.

But some things cannot be learned through tuition or study, only through experience and the choice to learn from the darker moments of life.

Often after the days work they would come to my kitchen, seeking a lost sense of home and security in my domain they could not find within the rest of the castle.

Oh Narnia was their first love after Aslan, but they always knew that whenever they returned to the Cair, in times of war or peace there would always be a place for them at my hearth.

Many was the night when I would be awakened by the step of one of the four, needing a place to find rest after the day's toil, or a friend to talk to over tea and a pastry.

Peter always came reluctantly, unwilling to disturb my rest with what he called trivial concerns. I would simply set his favorite delicacy before him, and wait in silence until he felt ready to speak of whatever was troubling his thoughts.

Edmund came to my kitchen for the stories I would tell. Many an evening I recounted tales of long ago rulers and Narnian heroes, and the story of our world's creation by Aslan.

He would sit drinking in every word, often questioning me about the various traditions and forms of address when speaking to Narnian creatures. I did not realize how much of our people's lore and customs I knew or took for granted, until I came to know Edmund.

So I offered him what help I could, and watched with pride as he grew into the title of The Just bestowed upon him by Aslan.

Susan walked with a grace and confidence so practiced, that if I had not been blessed with a talent for observation I might have missed what lay beneath the mask of cool elegance and poise.

She was nervous, unsure of her ability to govern, wanting to do her best for Aslan and her people, and not knowing how to achieve that goal.

So I listened, and offered my friendship and advice, and in time the strength and graciousness of her spirit took the place of that mask of false calm, and I knew why Aslan had named her The Gentle.

Lucy's steps when crossing the threshold of the royal kitchen were always light and firm, the attitude of one friend eagerly going to meet another. In that respect she remained the same, even when she was grown to womanhood.

Of all the four, she alone retained that combination of youthful exuberance and simple yet profound wisdom which made her beloved by our people.

I learned to know what foods each loved, and under their instruction prepared and introduced a number of dishes from their own world to the nobles and lords of their court.

Some grew in popularity, eventually becoming foods which all Narnians loved and enjoyed.

King Peter appreciated the platters of roasted meats and vegetables. And after his return from the west seeking an apple to protect Narnia and lift the false queen's curse from his brother, he often took an extra slice of fresh bread with his meal.

King Edmund always enjoyed our Narnian toast. Made from a fresh baked loaf, it was cut into thick slices and toasted over the hearth fire. I would always add extra butter to his portion, knowing that was what he liked best.

Susan's tastes were different. Her favorites were the dishes of rich stews and the cakes I made with rich honey.

She it was who sought me out in secret, to learn all she could of my trade. Many of her efforts found their way to the royal table, and her brothers and sister never suspected a thing.

Lucy simply enjoyed each meal to the full, never forgetting to thank and praise me for my dedication and work. She also tried valiantly to learn what she could of my art, but I fear did not meet with any great success.

During my talks with our rulers I learned of their mother, who bore the name of our first queen. They spoke of her gentleness, strength, and courage, as she had given them into the care of a learned man during a fierce war, that they might be kept safe until peace was declared.

They spoke of her grief and anger, against those in authority for separating their family, and the struggle to reconcile herself to her husband's departure.

They told me of their father, a skilled and honorable warrior, who if given the choice would rather have remained with his family. How hard it was, for him to leave them, and of how they treasured the memories of his warmth, kindness and affection.

And although I did not know this couple who lived a world away, they had my respect, thanks, and blessing for raising such loyal, courageous and kind hearted children.

It may sound foolish, but I silently asked Aslan that if ever I met the Queen Mother, she would understand that I never meant to take her place in the affections of her children.

If Aslan granted me that honor, I would tell her of how Peter became my protector, Susan my strength in times of need, Edmund a friend and ally, and Lucy restored a hope and faith I had thought lost.

In many ways, I believe I became a surrogate mother to them all, offering the four what love and wisdom Aslan had seen fit to give me.

I am old now, and have been blessed with good friends and a family who needs my services as cook.

But I will always keep the memory of our four sovereigns in the secret places of my soul. Each recollection I will consider of higher value than the brightest of Narnia's jewels.

For they were more than my sovereigns, they were the children of my heart.

_Note from the authoress: I wasn't sure what to make Nora, a talking animal, or dryad, perhaps a dwarf. If anyone has suggestions on what she should be send them in and I'll work that bit of information into a later chapter._

_I refer to events in Elecktrum's wonderful story _Into_ The West during this chapter. Her use of the phrase good my cousin can be found in her tales of Narnia._

_As always, I appreciate your comments. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, it's encouraging to know you enjoy my _writing_._


	3. Chapter 3 Rene

I approached the house with a mixture of sorrow and trepidation. This was where I was born, spent the years of my childhood, and walked from on the day of my wedding happy and content with my choice of a husband.

My family has offered to accompany me, saying that at a time like this I shouldn't be alone, but I cannot bring myself to accept their help with this task. I have even asked my husband to wait for me just beyond the trees; he alone seems to understand the depth of my sorrow, for the parent's death has now taken.

Yet I know they are not really gone, and that when my time comes I will meet them again in Aslan's country.

It is that spark of deep faith and knowing which gives me the strength to turn the handle and open the door to my childhood home.

A thousand memories pass through my mind as I walk through the silent rooms. Times of laughter, sorrow, and tension, all shared with the parents now buried beneath the soil of the forest they loved so much.

For a moment I wish I had asked some of my brothers or sisters to come with me, at least then I wouldn't be doing this alone.

But they would have filled this silence with meaningless chatter in an attempt to lift my spirits, and though I would have appreciated the effort, I know that eventually my family would have driven me mad.

They were loving, supportive and fun, but at a time like this I preferred the silence which afforded me an opportunity to think and remember in peace.

I enter the main room, where meals and gatherings had so often taken place.

Everything was just as mother liked it, the various ornaments and household things she had always been using were in their accustomed places, as if awaiting the return of their owner.

I must shake off such thoughts, or put them to the back of my mind to be examined later. It was my duty, as the eldest to take note of every possession, and eventually keep or give away some to new owners.

I look up to the mantle over the fireplace, and smile as my gaze passes over one particular object.

It is a drinking vessel, a silver goblet with no ornamentation. Yet it possesses elegance, strength and beauty which has not faded over the years of use it has seen In my family.

Unlike other ornaments it has always had a place of honor on the mantle, and has for as long as I can remember.

For this seemingly ordinary goblet has a history, a story to tell that equals any of the heroic ballads sung at the court of Archinland.

Often I would beg for this story as a young fox cub, and my parents would never tire of telling it, for it took place during that terrible winter of 100 years.

At that time, my grandfather had been struggling to support a growing family through the harsh months of endless cold and snow.

Food was scarce, and what little was found was often rationed amongst the younger members. My grandparents often declared that they were survivors, and would find a way to provide for the cubs.

But by the time that memorable winter day dawned, there was little in the house for breakfast.

So my family did what many did at that time, shared their food with others in similar circumstances.

If lucky, there would be enough between two or three families to provide nourishment for everyone.

That day there was barely enough, and the knowledge that every talking beast at the table would leave hungry weighed heavily on my grandmother's heart.

She prided herself on the fact that she always set a generous table, that none left her den without a decent meal.

The fact that it was Christmas day made things even worse. But there was nothing to be done; at least everyone had received a portion of food.

My grandfather was the first to rise from the table, the signal for all to depart.

It was then in the stillness of the forest, all assembled heard something which sent a thrill of fear throughout their bodies.

Clear, high and silvery, the sound of sleigh bells was drawing ever closer. Yet they did not sound like the bells used by Jadis. They possessed a quality which all sought to name, and when the words formed within each mind they sounded almost like a term from a foreign tongue. It had been so long since any there had felt any of these emotions.

For it was the sound of hope, joy, and peace for a land long thought forsaken.

Everyone stood in a hushed expectant silence, until the owner of the sleigh came into sight.

There followed a time of glorious chaos, where the youngest ran forward to greet the fur wrapped figure, and others could only stand and stare in astonishment and disbelief.

The coming of Father Christmas could only mean one thing. The magic of our oppressor, that false queen Jadis, was finally beginning to weaken.

All to soon he left, but not without providing my grandparents and their friends with a glorious Christmas feast.

They had not long to enjoy it. When my mother told me this tale, she gave the impression that all at that table were so overjoyed at the miraculous turn of events, that they did not hear the approach of another sleigh.

My grandfather had just risen to speak, holding a silver goblet aloft, when a voice filled with controlled fury and hatred spoke from behind them.

"What is the meaning of this?"

There was no chance for escape, though my grandfather bravely tried to deflect her anger. Moments later the forest clearing which had been the scene of such joy and hope, was adorned with statues. They seemed the work of a master sculptor, for some were still holding forks, spoons, or a goblet as her magic had taken hold.

They had been discovered 10 minutes after Jadis's departure, by a family of squirrels seeking their cash of nuts.

Though I never knew my grandparents, I know that the horror of that scene was imprinted upon the memories of my mother and father by that family who could do nothing to help their friends. They could only continue on their way, knowing that their fellow Narnians would forever remain frozen in a twisted mockery of a celebratory feast for eternity.

I would always shiver at this point in the telling of this tale, for when questioned by my mother and father they revealed a dark and sadistic truth concerning the magic of Jadis, one which has been kept secret by the many victims she claimed.

My father told me once, when I persisted in questioning him that it would be cruel to speak of their torments, that some pain went too deep to be given voice in the tongues of men or beast.

For when Jadis transformed her unwilling subjects, she condemned them to remain aware of all that was taking place in the world around them, ensured that each unspoken longing of their soul would remain forever beyond their reach.

I did not understand when young, but I do now, and feel that my father had the right of it when ordering me to keep silent.

The statues in the forest stood, feeling nothing but the bitter wind upon their faces, and the crushing weight of snow.

There came a moment when the air seemed to tremble, shaken by a force so powerful that it caused the souls of all trapped in stone to awake and listen. It was as if something ancient, formed of the same substance as they had suddenly been broken in two.

Yet with this knowledge came The feeling of great joy, as if whatever this object was, it had fulfilled its purpose, and was at last restored to the hand of its true master.

And across Narnia the message was whispered, to the hearts of all turned to stone by the false queen.

"Aslan, our true lord is risen."

They did not have long to wait for his coming. Strong and graceful, real and glorious the great lion bounded into the clearing. Softly he approached each statue, restoring each to life with the warmth of his breath.

My grandparents were amongst the first to be restored, and knelt before Aslan in thanks and reaffirmation of their loyalty and faith.

Thus the story would always end, and that silver goblet which my grandfather had been holding when turned to stone became a treasured family heirloom.

I carefully lift it from its place of honor, feeling the bone deep exhaustion of one who is worn out by grief and the weight of a hundred poignant sweet memories.

I cannot continue with my task. I will return tomorrow, with others to help in the packing up of my parents' belongings.

Swiftly I turn and walk out of the den, closing the door firmly behind me.

My husband is waiting for me just beyond the line of dark fir trees.

In answer to his questioning look I hold up the silver goblet, turning it so that the moonlight reflects from its surface like a mirror.

"Is that all you want?" My husband's voice is puzzled, for he knows that by Narnian law, the possessions of a dead relative go to the next of kin.

"I'm not finished sorting through everything yet. I'll come back tomorrow."

He nods silently, putting his head next to mine in a familiar and welcome offer of support and affection. For a moment we linger, and I let myself mourn for the loving parents who have gone where I cannot follow until my appointed time.

The silver goblet falls forgotten to the snowy ground, as I wordlessly reach out for something, anything to give me solace and peace.

Oh Aslan, be with me now. Give me the strength to go on without them.

My husband holds me close, speaking words of love and comfort, as I weep until I have no more tears to shed.

Reluctantly I draw away, and bend to pick up the goblet now half buried in the snow.

As my paw grasps it firmly, I think of how long ago, my grandfather had waited with his wife, clasping this simple vessel as together they suffered a torment which surely mirrored my own at this moment.

Yet they had been restored by the grace of Aslan, lived to tell the story of this goblet to their children, as it had been told to me. Surely, if they could find the strength to survive, then I their granddaughter would be able to draw on the legacy left me by their example.

Determination welled up within me. I turned to my husband holding up the goblet as I spoke.

"I'll still mourn and miss them, but I think I can find the strength to go on, at least for now." His eyes met mine over the elegant silver rim. He was familiar with my family's history and understood the deeper meaning behind my words.

I would continue to live, supported by the love of my spouse and friends, and the strength of my family's legacy, until the hour Aslan chose to call me home.

_Note from the authoress: I am astonished at the number of reviews this story is receiving. Thank yu so much to everyone who has left me comments, I appreciate each and every one of them._

_For anyone interested, I've written 2 other C S Lewis stories, Daughter of Narnia and The Two Sisters._

_They are both unusual tales._

_When I came up with the _idea_ for this story, I first thought of including a chapter about the stone table on its own, but this chapter felt like the right place to put that idea instead._

_For some reason when writing down ideas for this series of stories, I immediately thought of that poor group of talking animals Jadis turned to stone, specifically C. S. Lewis mentioning that the oldest fox was holding a glass._

_From that, came my idea for a short story which ties into the overthrowing of Jadis and the rule of the Pevensies._

_Rene, I thought of that name because of the French word for fox, sorry, I know it's not very creative, but the name really suits her character. It's also a name which means reborn, so I thought it would be appropriate considering her family's story. _


	4. Chapter 4 Irel

It was said in Narnia that each creature was given a task by Aslan, one which was passed down through generations so that there would always be someone to see it done.

For centaurs, it was to watch the dance of the stars, seeking to discern possibilities of the future in the messages they displayed.

Badgers were given the task to remember the ancient tales, so that in times of darkness they could tell of the heroic deeds of past Narnians, and the strength and hope all received from Aslan.

I am just a simple hedgehog, but from an early age I believed that Aslan had appointed me the task of preserving the wisdom and knowledge of our ancestors.

Since childhood, the quest for knowledge had always fascinated and drawn me. Often when other hedgehogs would rather have joined their friends in play, I was to be found engrossed in a scroll of Narnian lore or asking for a story from my parents.

I kept that love of knowledge with me as I grew older, and when fully grown I became a respected scholar among my people.

It was for this reason I was chosen to serve as librarian at the Cair after the downfall of Jadis.

I remember the day I carefully stored every book and scroll in my personal collection, looking forward to sharing their knowledge with the four Aslan had chosen to rule Narnia.

I had little time to begin adding them to the books within the Cair's library, as preparations for the coronation filled much of my first week at the castle.

Our kings and queens sought me out frequently then, asking for my help in explaining their part in the approaching festivities.

It wasn't until three days had passed after the four thrones had been filled, that I began my daunting task.

I lost myself in my work, marveling at the vast amount of knowledge this room contained. Books of music, poetry, law and the history of Narnia's battles passed before my eyes as I looked for the right places to add the manuscripts I'd collected over the years.

Oblivious to the passing of time, I continued my work until I heard a clock strike midnight.

Deciding to continue in the morning, I curled up in my basket intending to get some rest.

It was then that I saw the soft glow of candlelight approaching through the crack beneath the library door.

It opened softly, almost reluctantly as if the person on the other side did not want to be discovered or overheard.

But there was no mistaking the slender dark haired figure, as he made his way to a table near the fire, set down a candle, and began to search the shelves for Aslan only knew what.

I sat silent and unmoving in my basket, curious as to what our youngest king could be seeking at this hour. He remained unaware of my presence as he took down book after book from the shelves, piled them on a table close to the dying fire, and began to read by the light of a single candle.

I watched his face as he read, the play of candlelight over the youthful features revealing a determination and solemnity rarely seen in one so young.

Whatever he was looking for, it must be important to draw him from his bed at this hour.

Cautiously I uncurled and stretched my head up just above the rim of my basket, curious as to what held our youngest king's attention so completely.

At that moment the flames in the hearth flared for an instant, and I was able to read the title engraved upon the book's spine.

Narnian Laws and Their History.

Comprehension struck, swift and powerful as I realized the purpose of King Edmund's search.

Like all who lived at the Cair, I had been present at the coronation of our four rulers, and had heard what Aslan had called our youngest king.

King Edmund The Just.

I also knew the story of how he had betrayed his family to Jadis, but been forgiven by Aslan himself. Oreius had spoken of his courage in battle, and of how it was Edmund who realized the key to defeating our ancient foe lay in destroying her wand.

Now he had come here, to learn and study, so that he might be worthy of the title King Edmund the Just. I suspected that he wished to keep his quest from his siblings out of a lingering sense of shame or inadequacy.

This thought was followed by a revelation which left me breathless with shock and awe.

I had been right to cling to that deep and abiding conviction formed in my childhood, the notion that I, like other Narnian creatures had been given a task by Aslan.

All of my years of pain staking research, of gathering scrolls and long forgotten tomes of Narnian lore, was meant to serve two purposes. To equip our rulers for the task of governing, and help a king on the path towards his destiny.

This was my calling, and I would do everything in my power to follow the will of Aslan.

Once I realized what King Edmund wanted, I made an effort to search out the books which would help him in his quest. Books of history, law and philosophy. Ancient scrolls of the journals of Narnia's rulers before Jadis came. There were not many amongst that collection, for she had tried her hardest to erase the memory of the monarchs who came before her.

I had searched long and hard for those accounts, carefully stored them in secret, in the hope that they might be of use if the prophecy was ever fulfilled.

I recall arranging the fruits of my labor on what was fast becoming in my mind king Edmund's table, smiling in quiet satisfaction.

Yes, these manuscripts would help him in his quest, to understand and become worthy of the title The Just.

He came often over the years of the four's reign, and although we rarely spoke I knew that we had formed a deep and abiding friendship. It was built on a shared understanding, of the challenges and struggle to shoulder the burden of kingship. .

Now as I look back, I thank Aslan for allowing me to help King Edmund carry the weight of his destiny, to have a part in shaping and supporting him on his path to becoming a king known for his wisdom, justice, and mercy.

_Note from the authoress: My thanks to Elecktrum, for permission to include her characters in this story. You can find the librarian Irel mentioned in her tales of Narnia._

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, I love reading all of your comments and suggestions on where I should take _this_ story._


	5. Chapter 5 Oreius

Many in Narnia would have been shocked, if they knew my thoughts during my first meeting with our sovereigns.

I had known of their approach. Word had reached us through the few trees that were still loyal to Aslan, and the news they told caused me to stare at the great lion in astonishment and apprehension.

I knew the prophecy, had grown up with stories of the long ago times of peace, and like all Narnians still hoped that Jadis's downfall would someday be a reality.

But children?

Four children with no experience of war, death, or combat?

How could they fulfill the prophecy?

I watched as they drew near and knelt before Aslan, struggling to keep an expression of calm and confidence in place.

Aslan, what on earth possessed you to choose these children to rule us?

Had I spoken my thoughts aloud, I know everyone would have stood in a shocked silence, horrified that I could question Aslan's will so boldly.

But as I met the gaze of my creator, I saw a glimmer of amusement and understanding in those deep eyes. For an instant they glanced pointedly up at the sky, and I knew what Aslan was asking me to do.

He knew why I had questioned his decision, and preferred my honest inquiry to an attitude of forced acceptance of his choice.

I would do as Aslan ordered, give each what training and advice I could, and trust in the great lion for the future.

I was to discover the answer to my question throughout the rule of the four, as I watched and formed friendships with each of them.

And the conclusion I reached gave me a deep reassurance that Aslan had chosen well. For our kings and queens were each in their own way warriors who would sacrifice everything for Aslan and their kingdom.

King Peter appointed himself the protector of his siblings, placing himself between them and danger on countless occasions.

I remember how in our battle against Jadis, he ordered Edmund to depart, find their sisters and return to their own world. And in that moment, I glimpsed the potential within our eldest king.

Edmund, as he ignored his brother's command, and turned to confront Jadis, breaking the source of her power and giving us fresh hope for victory.

Susan, calm and confident, killing Edmund's tormenter with a single shot.

Lucy, no less valiant, prepared to act if necessary and offering help to the wounded after the battle was over.

The glimpses I caught that day were to become the foundation upon which my admiration, respect and love for our sovereigns was built.

I did not see that possibility then, as I still thought of them as children thrust into a world they scarcely knew. Yet I wanted to understand what Aslan had seen in these four, and was determined to take up the challenge the great lion had set before me.

In the joy of victory and the preparations for the coronation, I nearly forgot Aslan's silent command. Not until the feast was well underway did I find the opportunity to slip quietly away.

I stood upon the seashore, gazing up at the evening sky. Like all centaurs, I possessed a love for studying the messages given by the stars, though my skills lay in weaponry and strategy.

I let my senses drift, willing myself to focus on the splendor of the evening sky. Those who have never beheld the Narnian stars have missed a truly wonderful sight. For if one is willing to surrender utterly to the dark beauty of the night, to listen with the soul instead of the physical ear they will hear a great music.

It is a song composed of so many shifting moods and notes that even the great musicians would struggle to accurately play it. For within this music is contained all the struggles and triumphs, sorrows and joys of Aslan's creation. If one has the skill, he or she can catch fleeting echoes of things that have been, things to come, and things that have yet to come to pass.

There is also the dance the stars perform, beautiful and complex patterns which hint at the future of Narnia. And beneath it all is the constant awareness of Aslan's love, mercy, justice, and strength.

For a moment, I lost myself in the music of the heavens, content just to listen and draw strength from the messengers of the great lion.

Then I remembered his challenge, and with an effort refocused upon discerning what I could of the rule of the four.

Peter's notes were strong and clear, like a trumpet call to battle. In his music I heard distant echoes of greatness, love for his siblings and people, and the struggle to wear the mantle of high king with grace and dignity.

Susan's melody was softer, containing hints of a gentler, more thoughtful nature than her brother. But beneath it were chords of steely resolve, a promise to herself and Aslan that she would not fail her people.

Edmund's music was darker; the song of one who has walked the paths of utter darkness and returned with knowledge no child should ever have to know. Yet woven into that music were notes of a fierce intelligence and wisdom gained through hardship and a love of learning.

Lucy's song was deceptively simple, the music of a soul who reveled in life. Yet beneath the joyous melody were notes of a warrior's courage and a generous spirit, strengthened by a strong and deep faith In Aslan.

They were the songs of warriors, kings and queens. Children of Adam and Eve who would in time let their different melodies be heard across all of Narnia, in a glorious symphony that would never be forgotten.

The sound of distant laughter and music from the Cair brought me back to the present with a start. Now I understood why Aslan had chosen these four to rule, how I had been wrong to doubt his sovereign will.

Yet was that not part of the journey all took who followed Aslan? Didn't we all question, struggle, and finally surrender in the knowledge that he saw each member of his creation in a way we could only imagine?

Silently I asked Aslan for wisdom to help guide the four, so that they would in the fullness of his time allow all to hear and understand the depth and glory of the music within their souls.

And I knew that my prayer was heard, that I along with many others were about to experience a time of peace, struggle and hope that would be remembered in Narnia for as long as our world endured.

_Note from the authoress: Wow, I'm amazed at all of the great feedback this story is receiving. _Thanks_ to everyone who's read and reviewed, I appreciate all of your encouraging comments._

_I had this chapter mapped out when I wrote down ideas for this story, hence the quick update._

_I've other chapters in mind for a number of characters, but life is busy especially now, and I know updates won't be so frequent for a while._

_If anyone has suggestions on characters they'd like me to include let me know._

_Thanks for reading._


	6. Chapter 6 Mallo

Often I and my people are but a passing whisper of curiosity within the history of Narnia. I have heard it said that in the world of the four we are relegated to the realms of legend.

Yet we continue to live, to flourish within the place it is said Aslan always crosses when coming to aid his creation.

Few enter our world, for only children of the sea possess the means to come and seek our advice or companionship.

On rare occasions we draw near the shore, in order to speak with the friends who dwell on the land. But always the sea calls us back, a constant and living song as ancient as that other which our maker Aslan sung on the day of Narnia's creation.

Yet there was a time when my people and I often approached the shore, eager to speak with the four who ruled our nation.

I was the first to approach the Cair on the morning of their crowning, saw their looks of wonder and astonishment as they watched us rise from the sea in greeting.

The eldest, grave and alert, with the look of a warrior prepared to sacrifice everything in the defense of his kin and people.

His brother, quiet and observant, with eyes which held the knowledge of the darkness and corruption of our fallen enemy.

The youngest queen, warm and friendly, with a strength and faith which would carry Narnia through the darker moments of their reign.

But it was the eldest queen who captured my interest, caused me to draw even closer in the hopes of getting another glimpse of her face. For in that moment when her eyes had met mine, I knew she was meant for so much more, that her title of The Gentle concealed a deeper truth of her character many were not privileged to behold.

And I knew in that brief instant of contact that it would be the mermaids, the creatures of the deep many Narnians had thought lost during the rule of Jadis, who would befriend and help this queen throughout her reign.

Of all Narnians, I know of only one who truly understood the magnificence, power and mystery of our world.

She came to us at midnight, moving with a grace akin to that of any creature of water. For an instant her eyes gazed out over the Eastern ocean, with a look of mingled excitement and longing I recognized immediately. All who loved the water bore that expression, It's significance was known only to those who called the water their home, and it was not often that a land dweller was born with that love of our element in such abundance.

But as Queen Susan took her first plunge into the sea, I knew that this daughter of Eve was destined to become the friend of my people, and in time would restore us to our rightful place amongst Narnian creatures.

And I thanked great Aslan, for sending these four children to rule us. For it was their fresh perspective of our nation, uncorrupted by the misconceptions which were so much a part of Narnia through the false queen's influence, that many of the forgotten traditions and customs would be restored as they learned to govern their subjects.

On that first night, our eldest queen was so captivated by the splendor of the ocean under a Narnian sky that she did not hear my approach.

I surfaced beside her, easily matching her pace, offering her greetings from my people in the name of Aslan. She responded shyly, and I soon realized that she was content to swim in silence, enjoying the beauty of the night and the water.

She came regularly after that first evening, and in time we became close friends, bound by our shared love of Aslan, Narnia and the sea.

I delighted in showing her as much of our realm as was possible, for one who could never dwell beneath the ocean. Often when she thought I was not looking, I would see that gentle face wear a look of great longing and curiosity. And I knew that she was thinking of the songs I sung, of the tales I told her of life beneath the Eastern Ocean.

And so I did all I could to assuage that desire, shared with her the great secrets of the deep, showed her the places known to all creatures of water for their beauty and historical significance.

Her siblings knew of our friendship, and though each enjoyed the sea and often spoke with my people, they never asked how Susan and I met.

Each ruler formed their own friendships and attachments to Narnia, and if they chose not to speak of a particular acquaintance, none ever thought to question that choice.

As the four adjusted to the task of ruling, they began to form a counsel of Narnia's creatures to offer help and advice in times of need.

As the leader of my people, I was selected to represent the creatures of the sea.

It was a decision which helped restore us to our old place within the Narnian court, one which Jadis had quickly eliminated at the beginning of her reign.

Which is why I often thought it an amusing twist of fate, when we were asked to safeguard the symbol of Jadis's power.

The wand came into our possession a few weeks after the four were crowned. It had been found by a family of Red Dwarfs on the battlefield of Beruna.

After much discussion and debate on what should be done, King Peter suggested giving it into the care of the mermaids, as many would not think to look within our realm for the remains. Many Narnians agreed, no doubt thinking that as I and my people remained undisturbed by Jadis, and took no part in the battle that it was an excellent hiding place for the crystal shards of her wand.

But they were wrong. For although we never fought for the false queen, her power was very real and dangerous to all who lived in the ocean. Those who live on land often forget the importance of water, how without it all creatures would perish, and that those who dwell within it always sense when it is poisoned or corrupted by darkness.

And Jadis's power was drawn not just from her wand, or the darker forms of magic she learned throughout her cursed existence. It came from the slow and deliberate corruption of the pure waters of Narnia, and the desecration of the Eastern Sea where my people reside.

Still you ask for what purpose did she commit such treachery?

The answer is a truth many Narnians have never suspected, for she hid her plans well. Her fortress was formed of water, frozen by her will, its song and flow corrupted by a power which water was never meant to absorb.

For this reason I was reluctant to take the shattered remnants of Jadis's power into our keeping, knowing that my people wanted nothing more to do with the false queen who had so defiled our home.

Knowing of our concerns, Queen Susan spoke passionately on our behalf to her kin, telling our story and asking that another hiding place might be found.

It was her sister, Queen Lucy who asked if there was something within our realm which could contain Jadis's power, keeping it from corrupting the seas.

King Edmund then mentioned a legend from the ancient people of his world, which spoke of the protective influence of the red coral found deep within the sea.

Until that moment I had never considered the possibility that a legend born in the world of our rulers could possess some truth in Narnia.

So I set my people the task of finding out all they could concerning the precious red corals we prized so highly. And to my astonishment they concluded that this legend from the land of Spare Oom did in fact hold some truth.

So we placed the wand in a box made of coral, in a cave deep beneath the sea, until the time it was given into the paws of Aslan after King Peters return from the west.

Many years have passed since that day, and the four have long since departed, but I still keep safe a token of my friendship with Susan Pevensie. In a box made of coral, rests a coronet fashioned of the finest pearls and gold the sea around my dwelling can offer.

I made it for Susan 2 years after we met, and she often wore it proudly at many a Narnian celebration.

After the four left us, I asked that it might be returned to me, and my request was soon granted.

Many Narnians remember the four in a number of ways, through songs, tales, or treasures from the time they ruled our nation.

And my people are proud to join this tradition, to make sure that the memories we have of our four monarchs will not be forgotten. But there is one queen who we are proud to call our own. She is remembered with gratitude by my people, honored in our songs and tales for ages after her departure.

She is Susan the Gentle, my friend, and a true daughter of the sea.

_Note from the authoress: Mallo is borrowed by permission from the talented author Electrum, and is mentioned in her story Into The West._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate all of your feedback._

_This chapter was really hard to write, I hope you all enjoyed it and that it fit well with the other tales in this series._


	7. Chapter 7 Raksha

From the moment of their creation, the forests of Narnia have sheltered dumb and talking beasts alike.

Beneath the walking trees, dwell all manner of creatures. The great bears, and talking stags, live near the dens of the foxes and badgers.

And within the dark places of the forest is where the hunters make their home. I am one of these, a wolf who has borne 4 cubs.

Three have brought me joy, grown to take their place in the pack as fierce hunters.

But my eldest has forsaken the forest, to follow the call of darkness.

Even as a cub, he preferred the tales of great Narnian battles to the stories of Narnia's ancient glories

It was I who taught him to hunt after the death of my mate, introduced him to the darker truths of the forest. And like me he learned to take joy in each kill, to revel in the wild untamable thrill of the chase and capture of prey.

In vain did I repeat to him a portion of the law of the forest.

"Hunt then for food, but not for pleasure." This did not mean that we were not to enjoy the challenge of a hunt, or feel no pride or satisfaction if we made a good kill. It meant that unlike the dumb beasts, we would not rejoice in the taking of a life; simply take what was necessary for food and the survival of our pack.

He did not know that I learned to love the dark urges of our kin when young, not for nothing was I named Raksha the demon. Even now, I hold a place of honor within the pack, and the creatures of the forest know to keep clear of my jaws when I go on the hunt.

Of all the creatures in Narnia, my people are perhaps the ones best suited to courting the darker urges of the soul, for within the forest runs the continuous cycle of life and death.

Yet one law we hold most sacred above all the rest. In the tongues of the centaurs it is called Revinim, but it is known by another name to my people, the law of the forest.

And it is my greatest sorrow, that my firstborn son Morgrim broke that law, given to all Narnian creatures by the voice and song of Aslan.

Few speak the great lion's name among my pack, claiming that he is no friend of ours, but I still hold fast to the old stories, which speak of his mercy to all who truly seek his face.

And so I crouch at the mouth of my cave, anxious for news of the battle with our greatest foe, waiting for news of my son.

They come to me on their two legs, brothers in blood and spirit, seeking to know of our part in the reign of Jadis.

And they tell me of the death of my son, Morgrim, the strongest and swiftest of my children.

I am glad they know enough of our ways not to bring his corpse home. For though he has dishonored the pack he is still of the forest, and to it he will return in time.

Grim joy fills me as they speak of Jadis's death between the paws of Aslan. Yes, it was right that Narnia's true king killed her, brave as these human kings are, it would not have been fitting for her death to come by the bite of their swords.

As she destroyed the life of my son, and countless animals of the forest, so it is right that the kill was made by the great lion.

They do not linger, for which I am grateful, choosing instead to leave me to mourn my loss alone.

And though they have withdrawn to the edge of the clearing which shelters my den, I hear the brothers voices raised in anger and astonishment.

"Ed, I just can't understand it. Why did you ask me to come with you? Wouldn't it have been better if you'd come alone to tell her of Morgrim's death? After all, Aslan gave you these woods to rule."

Anger caused every muscle in my body to tremble in anticipation of battle. Foolish cub. Did he think the forest could ever be tamed, reshaped into whatever he desired simply because Aslan had order him to watch over it?

Silently I padded forward, eager to hear King Edmund's response.

"Peter, I know you may not believe this but I feel sorry for her, and her pack. When I looked into her eyes after you told her about Morgrim, I saw something that I'm still having trouble accepting."

What was it?" The high king's voice was no longer angry or puzzled, but curious.

"Her eyes, their expression. It was exactly like the look mum had, when she sent us away from London.

There was an astonished silence. I could make no sense of their words, yet I felt that by speaking so honestly king Edmund had at last persuaded his stubborn brother to listen.

"Peter I know the witch chose wolves and other hunting animals to be a part of her army. But have you ever thought that just as I was corrupted and turned against you and the girls, so too were these beasts. Remember what Oreius said, Narnia's highest law is Revinim, it means something different to every creature. Here it's something as honorable and sacred as Kipling's law of the jungle. And she was able to twist its logic, honor and mercy, until every hunting animal who fought under her command thought they were upholding the law of their pack."

"But what has this got to do with Raksha?"

"Everything. She and other families of the animals Jadis corrupted kept that law, took no part in her reign of terror. And now we come into their territory, automatically assuming that every hunting animal we meet was sworn to her service. To say nothing of the fact that you just told her you killed her firstborn."

I couldn't believe my ears. This cub was displaying a wisdom and compassion which few elders in the forest possessed.

"Ed, I think Aslan chose wisely when he named you lord of these woods. In a few minutes you've managed to turn everything I thought about Jadis's army upside-down. How do you do it?"

"Probably because I've seen both sides during our battle, it makes me look at things in a different light." A moment later their reflective silence was broken as they wrestled together in play.

I withdrew on silent paws, to await the coming of night and ready myself to perform one final duty for my son.

I await the rising of the moon, and then under its light I sing the death song in memory of my firstborn. The song is taken up by every creature in the forest, as they join me in my hour of mourning.

My song falters as I hear two unfamiliar voices join my cry. They are higher in pitch, hesitant at first, but gain strength and confidence as the song continues. And though they try to match me in skill I know they have never been taught how to sing our song of death.

Astonishment fills me as I realize who has joined me in mourning my son. And I suppress the urge to laugh, as I listen to the attempts of kings Peter and Edmund trying to imitate my song.

In that moment I thank Aslan, that in my time of mourning he has brought me joy and hope, that the truth and honor of the law of the forest will live on during the reign of these four humans.

And I mourn for the cub who played between my paws, the hunter who pursued his prey with a tenacity I could be proud of.

And I griev that at the last he rejected the law of the forest, choosing instead to follow the orders of my enemy rather than the voice of our true king.

_Note from the authoress: I'm sorry for any _typing_ mistakes or other errors in this chapter. The ideas for this story came so fast that I had to get them down before I forgot them._

_The hunting quote is taken from Kipling's The Jungle Book, not the ridiculous Disney retelling, but the unabridged story._

_Raksha is the name of the mother wolf who adopts Mowgli, I thought I'd borrow that name for this character, and I definitely don't own the original created by Kipling._

_I thought a chapter written from the point of view of a character who lives by a similar code like the law of the jungle would be a challenge to write._

_The concept and term Revinim is borrowed from Elecktrum's awesome Narnian stories, if you haven't read them you're missing an amazing bunch of tales._

_I look forward to reading any comments, especially on writing style and dialogue, as that's the hardest thing for me to write._

_Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback._


	8. Chapter 8 Anna

For years I had lain quiet at the heart of my tree, held captive by the lethargy which all living things experienced during the cold months of winter.

Yet it was more than the winter sleep which bound me to my home. For I was filled with resignation, the knowledge that Jadis had bound many of my sisters to her service.

I was one of the few who had refused, and was sentenced to remain bound to my tree as a punishment for my loyalty to great Aslan. The false queen made sure that my tree was robbed of its fading glory, sent the cold winds against me in countless attempts to break my spirit.

She could not know that I had sunk my roots deep, into the ancient soil of the forest, drew what refreshment I could from the hard earth, and the little water that was left uncorrupted by her dark magic.

But most precious of all was the soul deep knowledge of Aslan's presence, for though many thought he had forsaken Narnia it was possible to hear the song of our creator, if one had the will and desire to listen.

How can I describe in mortal words the place the forest holds in the minds and hearts of her children. The deep elemental ferocity, tempered by the indescribable beauty of each season as it came and went according to the will of Aslan.

I was old enough to remember those times, before the reign of Jadis, when the land was not locked in endless winter by the magic of our greatest enemy.

It was these treasured memories which helped me to stand firm against Jadis's attempts to break my will, the hope that one day the prophecy of the four might come to pass.

Some say that the forest is a reflection of the great lion, at times, beautiful and awesome, or wild and dangerous. Certainly the hunting animals share this belief with my kin, though everything in Narnia is but a reflection of its creator.

All born of the forest recognize those who carry it in their blood. Thus I was aware when Narnia's youngest queen entered our world.

The moment she set foot in Narnia, I knew that every dryad was aware of her coming. For within her spirit burned an innocence, a love for all living things which set her apart from others of her race.

I watched as she passed me with the faun, knowing that she was one of the prophesied four come at last to defeat our enemy.

How different she looked when Tumnus led her back towards the lamppost. No longer was she a child full of the joy of life, but a warrior alert to the real threat of danger. That day I glimpsed the woman she would in time become, a vivacious and dedicated queen, with a warrior's courage and a steadfast faith in Aslan that would sustain her people in the darkest moments of Narnia.

It was I who carried word to Edmund and Peter of the death of the great lion. And although Queen Lucy did not know what had guided her to request the aid of the walking trees, I suspected that it was the ancient call of the forest newly awakened in her blood which had prompted her to summon a dryad.

The moment Jadis fell, my sisters and I felt the shackles with which she had bound us fall from our spirits. Yet beneath our joy and thankfulness flowed a song of hope, freedom and exaltation, filled with such beauty and power that for the first time since my birth I felt true life course through my sap.

I knew of the coronation, for several of my sisters were asked to serve at the Cair as servants to our monarchs.

It was at the beginning of summer that Queen Lucy sought us out.

Wanting to learn more of our new rulers, I had left the tree to which Jadis had bound me for so long, and taken up residence in the nearest forest to the Cair.

She came four hours before dawn, a slender golden haired child with the light of excitement and curiosity in her eyes.

My sisters and I had already begun to dance, when the queen who was to become my close friend drew near to our circle.

Respectfully we parted, and I stepped forward to address the queen named the Valiant by Aslan himself.

"Your Majesty, come and join us."

There was no hesitation as she accepted my offer. Eagerly she acquiesced with a friendly smile and a regal nod to all present.

There were many walking trees assembled that night, a myriad of shifting colors and leafy forms which swayed and moved in time to the music of Narnia.

But it was not like any song played by Narnian musicians at the court of the four, though some of my sisters contributed to our celebration by performing on flutes or stringed instruments.

No it was the wild and elemental song of the forest, a precious remnant of the song Aslan sung at the forming of our world which guided our steps and our voices.

Queen Lucy sang with us, her sweet soprano blending effortlessly with the chorus of voices. Yet I felt that as yet she only sang with partial understanding of what our song meant.

And thus I decided to do all I could to help her realize the gift she had been blessed with at birth.

"Can you hear it my queen? The music of the forest?"

For a moment she remained motionless, straining with everything within her to hear the living song of Narnia. I reached up to lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"No my queen, not that way. Look within, to your love of the wild and of music. You possess a rare gift, I know it, I felt it from the moment you entered Narnia. Aslan has blessed you with the ability to hear the call of the forest, of the life which every walking tree nurtures and strengthens."

The Valliant's eyes met mine in silent awe as I finished my explanation. Once again she stood motionless, seeking a way to share in the song my sisters and I so often took for granted.

I knew the moment she heard it, as her expression of fierce concentration became one of joy, awe and wonder.

Eagerly she rejoined our circle, casting aside the mantel of queen to revel in the music of creation. And though she could not move as we did, for all trees are rooted in Narnian soil, I knew she drew strength and life from the forest's song as we learned to in our first hours of life.

I watched my friend dance, never slowing, never resting, knowing that she would in time realize the true depth of the gift she had been given.

She came often after that first evening. And even when grown our sister never lost her joy and enthusiasm for our music and dance.

Many Narnians often commented on her boundless energy at celebrations, marveling that she could dance all the night long without a moments rest. Her sister and brothers watched and supported her when at last she finished her dance, often casting Lucy a look of affection tempered by an instinctive desire to indulge their little sister.

It often frustrated and saddened me, that even her closest family could not look past what they perceived as childlike innocence and exuberance, to glimpse the true worth of the soul beneath.

Only I and my sisters were privileged to look upon our queen as she truly was, during those moments when she joined our revels. For it was then we saw not a child, but a passionate daughter of Aslan, casting aside all formality and royal conduct to partake of the music of the wild.

It has been years since she has left us, but I still hold fast to the memory of my friend, as do all the walking trees. Deep within our sap runs the knowledge that we will hear her voice ages hence, begging us to awake and join her in the dance once again.

When that hour will come I know not, but by the lion's mane I know that neither the passing of centuries, nor the short memories of mortal beings can cause the forest to forget one of her children.

And so I wait, with the patience learned over a century of bondage, until I hear the voice of The Valiant once again calling my sisters and I to the dance.

Then I and my sisters will answer to her voice, and the summons of our Lord and creator the great lion, to join the battle for our nation.

And beneath my branches my friend and sister will dance once again, her steps guided by the call of the wild, and a passionate love for her lord and king Aslan.

_Note from the authoress: I'm not too sure about this chapter, somehow I don't think I got across everything I wanted to describe concerning Lucy, and her relationship to the dryads and the Narnian forest._

_I'll be interested in your thoughts for Anna's story._

_Inspiration for this chapter is drawn from Elecktrum's story Thole, particularly her chapter called Sword And Shield, Jewel And Song._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I enjoy reading all of your comments and suggestions for this story._


	9. Chapter 9 Boris

My people are once again a strong and proud race, though at one time in Narnian history we were scattered throughout the land in many small herds.

If you were to ask any citizen of Narnia about the history of slavery in our nation, I wager all would say that Narnia never participated in that shameful practice.

But they would have been wrong. For during the time of Jadis our oppressor, my race was bound to serve her, held captive by her magic and her threats against our families if we refused to submit to her will.

And though in time we grew used to our bondage, in secret we feared and resented the false queen for the power she had over our race and nation.

Every seven years she would call all herds together, and select from amongst the youngest and strongest of reindeer six to serve her will.

And at the end of seven years they would return to us, broken in body and spirit, baring little resemblance to the friends and loved ones we had once known.

I was the youngest of six, born to parents who were fortunate to escape Jadis's decree. My parents were proud of their children, declaring that we would one day make excellent leaders for the scattered herds of our kin.

Yet always there remained unspoken, the knowledge that we may be selected when the six Jadis had chosen returned at the end of their period of servitude.

Perhaps it was for this reason; my parents gave each of us names which reflected the fading glories of Narnia. I was given the name of Boris, a name which spoke of strength and endurance in battle.

I did not know it then, but my parents had named me truly, for the hardship and suffering which I was destined to endure would test my strength, faith and capacity to survive.

We heard her approach long before the sleigh came into sight. The clear ringing of silver bells filled the frigid morning air, as we waited in tense silence for the false queen's arrival.

Beside me my father tossed his head in a gesture of anger and disgust.

"She is bold. Choosing those bells which are symbols of hope to all. She knows full well that Father Christmas favors those crafted of silver."

My mother shifted restlessly.

"I know love. It's even worse when you think that she always comes on Christmas Eve to make her choice. Aslan grant that the four may come soon and put an end to this madness."

"Hush, Eleanor. Do not speak of the prophecy with her so near. Aslan knows I would not have you chosen."

"I'm only saying what we are all thinking. And Aslan knows she will never choose me, I'm hardly the strongest of our herd."

"Still, you must be careful, if not for yourself then for our children."

My mother nodded acknowledging the truth of father's words, then stiffened in anger and trepidation as our enemy approached.

Although I was as apprehensive as my parents, I could not help but be amazed at how our enemy could take even a simple phrase and corrupt its true meaning.

Normally to be a chosen one is considered a great honor, but over the century of my people's enslavement we had all come to dread her asking that very question.

She alighted from her sleigh, and approached our herd in utter silence, eyes gazing intently at each of the young with cool assessment.

And as before she asked her question, in the tone one might use when conducting a sacred ritual.

"Who will be my chosen ones?"

No one moved or answered, simply waited tense and defiant as she walked amongst us.

Beside me I saw my parents exchange a troubled glance, knowing that their children were among the best the herd had to offer.

Jadis came to a halt before our family, her cold eyes meeting the defiant gaze of my mother, and the cold rage in the face of my father.

"Eleanor, your children will do admirably."

For a moment my mother stared in astonishment that Jadis knew her name. Her surprise turned to a calm and deadly fury, that Jadis had clearly questioned her previous victims concerning our herd, desiring to know who were the most outspoken and the most suitable for her service.

But as we had learned over a century of bondage, there was nothing we could do to prevent what was about to happen.

My brothers and I were the chosen.

We could do nothing as she ordered us to come forward to be harnessed. I will never forget the look of helpless fury my mother cast Jadis as we drove away, nor the tears which she tried so hard to suppress for our sake. For she wanted our last memory of her to be one of strength and defiance.

And as I was led away, I felt as if all of Narnia's despair, longing and fading hope was voiced in the prayer I uttered in the secret places of my mind.

"Great Aslan, as you love your people, send us help soon. Do not forsake us though many have forgotten your love and mercy. Please, send us the four."

I could not know then that my prayer was about to be answered, that I would soon meet one of the children destined to rule, and the mark he would make upon my life.

That day began like countless others. I awakened at dawn, remembering to savor these few moments of freedom before the days work. Not for long were I and my kin free from the malevolent presence of the false queen, and so we learned to treasure the few peaceful moments before our suffering would commence.

My brothers and I were given our portions of food and water, barely enough to satisfy the constant pangs of hunger. But we were used to such treatment, and took what we were given, thankful that Jadis had never chosen to starve us as a form of punishment.

Soon after we were led out to the sleigh to be harnessed. How I hated it! This was the harness which had kept so many of my ancestors slaves to her will. It resembled other such inventions used to harness the dumb beasts of Calormene, but by now my family was intimately acquainted with its true purpose.

As soon as it touched me, I felt the tendrils of dark magic attempting to crush what remained of my will in an attempt to destroy my spirit. And from the deepest part of my being I somehow found the strength to resist, to use my memories of the tales of Aslan, and the warmth of joyful memories to combat Jadis's evil.

It was a familiar struggle, one I fought each morning when her pet dwarf came to harness me alongside my brothers.

As we were driven out of the courtyard, I could not help but grieve at the dejected movements and flagging strength of my kin.

Once they had been so strong and graceful, the pride of our herd. But thanks to Jadis's magic they were now reduced to pale echoes of their former magnificence.

I was close to joining them. I could feel it in the constant ache of my legs as I was urged on by the cruel bite of the dwarf's whip, in the despair which sought to devour my soul as I looked about me at the desolate forests of my homeland.

Still I continued to cling with stubborn determination to the stories of the great lion, and the promise of freedom which the prophecy of the four offered.

The command to stop was welcome, as we had been racing across the forests for hours without rest. It amused our tormenter, to push us to the limits of our strength, to watch us continue when we were beyond exhaustion.

It was then my brothers and I saw him. A slender dark haired human, looking up at Jadis in astonishment and wonder.

We listened as they spoke together, as she coaxed him to sit beside her and wrapped him in warm furs.

Horror filled me as she offered him food and drink, and I wished I could call out, to prevent him from consuming anything created by her magic.

I could only watch in helpless silence as she skillfully bought his loyalty, knowing that if our true king did not return soon, Edmund would be yet another who realized too late the folly and cost of trusting Jadis.

I was not present when Edmund came to Jadis's fortress bringing news of his family's whereabouts and the return of Aslan. But I heard from the dwarf of his imprisonment and ill treatment, and knew that even if Jadis was defeated and all we hoped for came to pass, many Narnians would see our youngest king as a traitor.

But those who had been in the false queen's power, felt and struggled against the corruptive influence of her magic would understand far better than the Narnians who were all too swift to condemn.

They would know that Edmund was a mere boy, seduced and tempted to follow a darker path by false promises of glory and domination she had spoken to enslave his mind.

As she ordered the son of Adam to climb in, I saw that already his faith in Jadis's promises was beginning to wane.

And I glimpsed the potential that lay beneath that mask of forced bravery and confidence, saw before me a king dedicated to the cause of the broken, the wronged, the rejected of Narnia.

Never would I have thought I could be grateful to the dwarf for anything. But when he spoke a name few dared to utter in Jadis's presence, I knew her reign would soon be ended.

The sound of our true king's name gave me fresh hope. If Aslan had at last come to Narnia, and if he was seeking Edmund, I would do all in my power to thwart Jadis's plans.

Cautiously I turned to my brothers, resigned to the knowledge that I would receive little help from them. But to my joy and astonishment, the name of Aslan had given them fresh strength, and a renewal of purpose I had not seen since the beginning of our captivity.

And between us passed an unspoken decision. No longer would we submit to the false queen's will, allow her magic to sap our strength and rob us of our hope.

Long accustomed to the magic of the harness, we knew that our resistance must be subtle so that she would not suspect our purpose. So we slowed our pace, allowing our hooves to slip in the muddy pools of water and mingled snow, while in secret we joined our wills to combat Jadis's magic.

As we hoped, she was so furious at what she considered our laziness, that she did not notice our resistance. Yet all of our efforts met with only slight success, enough that we were able to move by our own wills instead of remaining obedient to Jadis's commands.

So delighted were we at this small victory, that we barely felt the bite of the dwarf's whip as he mercilessly tried to force us on.

When finally he realized the sleigh could go no further, Jadis ordered Edmund to walk tied behind the dwarf.

And as he passed me, he whispered brokenly.

"Boris, I won't forget you or your kin. When she's defeated I'll come back for you. I- I'm sorry."

Wordlessly I inclined my head in acknowledgement of his promise, rejoicing that he had come to realize the true nature of our enemy.

How many take the simple freedom of movement, of making a choice by their own will for granted?

I know my people will ever appreciate that liberty, since the moment Jadis was defeated by great Aslan and her power over us and all of Narnia was shattered.

Edmund kept his word, and sought my people out asking if there was anything he could do to repay us for all we had suffered.

It was my father who spoke on our behalf, saying that it was enough for us to once again be a free people.

His siblings stood behind The Just, offering their support and friendship.

In time we became a large and strong nation, living under the rule of the four in peace. We continue to survive, living proof of the soul's capacity to endure, trust and hope.

_Note from the authoress: The idea for Jadis's enslavement of the reindeer, I took from the Greek myth of Theseus, where Aegeus was forced to sacrifice 7 youths and 7 maidens to the Minotaurr as tribute to King Minos of Crete._

_This will be my last update for a while, as university and life in general are starting to get really hectic, and I've no idea when the next chapter will be posted._

_I've many ideas for characters to include in this series, so this story is far from over._

_My thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this tale, and to those who have added my story to their favorites or alerts._

_I appreciate all of your encouraging feedback._

_If you end up waiting forever for an update and would like to check out more of my work, I've posted other stories to this site and would welcome any feedback._

_Thanks for reading._


	10. Chapter 10 Hope of Narnia

_Note from the authoress: And now for something very unusual. For the sake of this chapter and the story it tells, I've switched the location of Narnia's last battle in Lewis's seventh chronicle. My apologies to readers who want me to stick strictly to what the book says, but I feel the change of location really works for the story you're about to read._

_I'll be interested in what you all thought of this Narnian tale, once the idea popped into my head I thought it would fit well into this series._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate all of your feedback._

_Next chapter will be an interesting mix of the story behind the four thrones, and the tale of a king and queen from our own world will also make a surprising appearance._

_Thanks for reading._

It had stood upright and immovable since the birth of their nation, an unusual sight amidst the living trees of the ancient Narnian forest.

Tall and strong, it was crafted of iron, so the dwarfs who came to inspect this wonder proclaimed.

Though it was not alive as were many of the walking trees, at its top burned a steady light. It did not seek to consume like the flames of a fire, or dance and flicker as does the light of a single candle.

Instead it burned without ceasing, needing nothing to sustain its fierce unwavering light, a wonder to all who dwelt in Narnia.

Always it remained untouched by the passage of centuries, an ancient relic which had been brought to Narnia on the day of its creation.

Thus it became a symbol of the truth of the old stories, living proof that Narnia had indeed been created as they had claimed.

One of the ancient tales, often repeated at hearths throughout the land during the time of Jadis was the history of the tree of protection, and the promise of safety it represented for their nation as long as it was tended.

The last king and queen of Narnia before the coming of Jadis, had urged their people to cling to the tales of Aslan, to honor the great lion and guard the sacred tree.

But despite their warnings, there were many in Narnia who ignored their wise counsel.

After their deaths Narnia had fallen into chaos, and with none left of the royal house of Frank to take up the duty of ruling, Jadis found Narnia an easy conquest.

Had any Narnians been acquainted with the ancient legends of our world, they would have said that the destruction of the tree of protection resembled the opening of the fabled box of Pandora.

For as the false queen spread terror and destruction, casting spells of power to lock the land in endless winter, many whispered that evil times were afoot.

And in secret some passed on the knowledge of the prophecy of the four, so that it would never be forgotten.

Many sought relics from the first century of their nation, scraps of proof that the old tales were real and could offer some encouragement amidst the dark and endless years of winter.

This was not an easy task, for Jadis had moved quickly to destroy anything that would corroborate the truth of the ancient stories.

And yet she neglected the one thing which would not be corrupted by her power, for it had been taken from another world in hatred and thus could not be forced to obey her will. Nor did it carry a trace of life or dark magic, something which she could twist and corrupt for her own purposes.

And so this simple tree of iron, crowned by a light which never died, became the symbol of something which had long forsaken the hearts of Narnians. It became a single spark of hope, the one thing left to them amidst the sorrow, cruelty and despair which their enemy had unleashed upon their land with the destruction of the sacred tree.

But for the false queen, it was different. For every time she passed through the glade where this relic of Narnia's history still stood, she was consumed by thoughts of her greatest enemy.

Aslan, the great lion, the true king of Narnia, who had by will and song alone created this empire she now claimed as her own.

And she would remember. The ancient echoes of the great lion's song of power, calling this land to awake, giving an empty world unspeakable beauty and life.

Of how enraged she had sought to end his existence, by hurling an iron bar at his head, and her shock and fury as it had no affect.

And even now, centuries later, after she had worked to eradicate all the tales of his glory, this iron bar remained, grown into something her subjects looked upon as a symbol of hope and rebirth.

And there was nothing she could do to quench its light, or stamp out the fire of hope and expectation it had rekindled in the souls of her unwilling subjects.

Nor did Jadis want to admit to herself that whenever she passed the clearing which contained the tree of iron, she would be gripped with the long ago memory of a lion's deep and unwavering gaze, and the knowledge that though she had won immortality and endless strength, her power was no match for the might of Aslan.

She had decreed that none should ever speak that name within her realm, for at the sound of it she felt a cold dread, the knowledge that one day her reign would end, according to the will of the great lion, and the prophecy he had given his people which spoke of others coming from that other world to end her time as empress.

Thus she avoided looking at this cold and lifeless tree, for it represented fear, failure, and the sure promise of her downfall.

She could not know that long after her death, it would become a symbol around which friends and family would gather once a year. And after a respectful silence stories would be shared, songs sung, in loving memory of the four, whose coming she had fought so hard to prevent.

In time this tradition would fade, as those who remembered the prophesied ones passed into Aslan's country. But their tales and treasures kept from the golden age of Narnia remained, tangible proof that even in times of darkness, Aslan had not forgotten his people.

It was a great pity, that this tree forged of iron would never know or comprehend its impact upon a nation, of the hope it brought to those who had long thought their land desolate.

It would never know of how at the death of Narnia, the clearing where it stood would become the site of the last battle for a nation once again struggling under the crushing weight of darkness.

Nor could it know how it would fill the mind of a powerful queen with fury, terror, and an approaching sense of doom whenever she gazed upon its light.

After all, it was only a lamppost.


	11. Chapter 11 Arianna

I have lived all of my life in the western wild, one of the few dryads to make her home in the loneliest part of Narnia.

Many see that portion of Aslan's creation as desolate, where the favor of the great lion no longer rests.

They do not realize that sometimes the voice of the highest king can be heard in silence, felt in the wild and primitive beauty of this place long thought forsaken by the lion's grace.

For is it not always said that Aslan is not a tame lion?

Why then should it not be possible to sense his presence in a place which is so wild and lonely?

I found acceptance and peace here, preferring the stillness and solitude to the usual activities of other corners of Narnia.

Yet I often journeyed through our land, enjoying the company of friends and family, taking joy in each day Aslan grants.

But always I was drawn back to the quiet of my home, sensing that I was meant to dwell here not only for my own contentment, but to fulfill the calling Aslan had placed upon my life.

What that was I did not then know, but I was determined to remain and give my tree life and strength until Aslan chose to reveal his purpose to me.

Seasons passed, and I learned of the fall of Jadis, and received the news of the crowning of the prophesied four with joy.

I thanked Aslan that he had not forsaken Narnia, that though I and my people had endured a century of darkness, still the will of the great lion reigned supreme.

A month after the coronation I journeyed to the Cair, and met the four kings and queens Aslan had chosen.

They greeted me with warmth and courtesy, providing all I could want while I remained at the Cair.

King Edmund often sought me out, questioning me about the birds and animals that had chosen to make their home in The Western Wild. I knew this was because Aslan had given him dominion over the western forests of Narnia, and was glad to share all I could with our youngest king.

I saw how our rulers were struggling under the weight of destiny, each desiring to serve Narnia and Aslan but doubting their capability. They all showed it in different ways.

King Peter through a fierce dedication to destroy the remnants of Jadis's army. I knew that desire was driven by the memory of what she had done to his kingdom and family, and admired his boundless courage and determination to restore peace in Narnia.

King Edmund struck me as a boy determined to learn all he could of his subjects, so that he might in time become worthy of the title The Just.

Often when he thought I was not watching, I glimpsed a brief look of deep pain cross those strong features. And I knew he was remembering how he had betrayed his family, wondering if he would ever be worthy of the title of king.

Queen Susan so calm and dignified, struggling to find her place in this world she had been asked to rule.

And Queen Lucy, taking joy in the simplest things, eager to learn, give and become an integral part of the land she was connected to through the call of the forest.

It was these impressions I carried with me back to my home, believing that it would be a few seasons before I saw the four again.

I could not know then that circumstances would compel me to seek out our four sovereigns very soon, or that I, who was known amongst the dryads for my shy and thoughtful nature, would stand before the greatest of our land, to share a tale of such tragedy, faith, love and commitment that even now I am astonished that Aslan chose me to tell it.

It was in the sixth month after my return from Cair Paravel that the tree I had called my home for so long died. According to the law of the forest, I let the land take back what it had given me to strengthen and began to search for another tree.

Three days had passed before I found one which I felt was right. As is the way of my people, I reached out to sense the life within the ancient roots.

Like my sisters I drew not just nourishment and strength from our Narnian soil, but also knowledge and stories which the forest has witnessed over the centuries of its existence.

And what I discovered as my senses reached out to the rich earth beneath my chosen tree caused me to step back in shock.

You who are acquainted with the history of Narnia will be familiar with the names of the monarchs before the coming of Jadis. But there is one tale which has fascinated and saddened Narnians throughout the long 100 years of winter.

It is the tale of the last king and queen to rule before the coming of Jadis. For there were at the time of this story none left in Narnia who could tell of their reign, nor were any accounts of their deeds left for us to honor and remember their part in our nation's history.

And though every creature of Narnia knew that they reigned for 25 years, so complete was the destruction of anything or anyone who knew or wrote about their accomplishments that they had been known for more than a century as the forgotten king and queen.

On that day in the Western Wild, I knew that at last their story was about to be discovered. And it would be a true account, for the impressions drawn from the earth are never false, because they are the very voice of Narnia, the remnants of Aslan's song of creation that speak to those willing to hear.

With the ease borne of long practice, I listened to the story this forgotten glade had kept secret for so long.

At first the forest was reluctant to surrender its knowledge, but as I offered only thoughts of respect and the promise that I would faithfully recount any impressions granted, I could feel the earth relent.

At first the impressions I received were mere flashes of insight, hardly the wealth of information I was expecting.

This was once a place blessed by a king and queen, children of Adam and Eve so closely joined in love and friendship that it was as if they shared the same soul.

But it was also a place of death, where royal blood was spilt by the hand of our greatest enemy.

Curiosity aroused, eager to learn more I stepped closer, into the area of rich soil next to my chosen tree.

And somehow I knew in that moment, that the knowledge I was about to uncover would help to solve one of the ancient mysteries of my land.

But deeper still was the revelation that the story I was about to hear would help our four monarchs to stand firm, in the knowledge that they were long ago destined to take up the task of ruling a land long in need of joy and restoration.

_Note from the authoress: I meant this chapter to detail the history behind the four thrones, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't write a convincing beginning to the story._

_And since these chapters are from the perspectives of various Narnian characters, I thought I'd write this chapter as a way of introducing another bit of Narnian history._

_Besides, I didn't think having a chapter that has the names of three characters for a title would fit with the rest of the story._

_So next time I'll be posting the story behind the making of the four thrones, and the tale of the forgotten king and queen of Narnia. _

_They will resemble another royal couple from our world; share not only the same names, but similar tragic fates._

_Can anyone guess their names?_

_Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews; I appreciate each and every comment._

_Thanks for reading._


	12. Chapter 12 Nicholas and Alexandra

They met at the great snow dance, on a winter night lit by the bright silver of a full moon.

The boy was 12, short and dark haired, with the light of mischief and excitement in his eyes. Yet in that gaze there was also a keen intelligence, and a look of one who thought deep thoughts.

The girl was 16 summers, tall and graceful, with a dignity which immediately proclaimed her to be of royal birth. And though her face still held the exuberance of youth, if one looked closer he would see within that steadfast gaze a spirit granted knowledge beyond mortal sight.

Each was only afforded a brief glimpse of the other as the dancers wove around them in intricate graceful patterns.

It was not until the feast at midnight that they were introduced. And as they talked, they discovered that they shared a love of learning and their people which swiftly bound them in friendship.

And on that winter night was born an extraordinary passion between two souls, a love which many in Narnia would call blessed by Aslan.

They wrote to each other regularly after that first meeting.

Nicholas wrote of his upbringing at the court of Cair Paravel, and his reluctance to rule after the death of his father.

"I would rather have been born the son of a dwarf or centaur, instead of a prince of Narnia.

I look at the lives of my subjects, and often wish I could live among them instead of at the Cair.

I've lost count of the times I have cast off the mantle of prince and enjoyed the company of my people. Those precious hours spent learning from the centaurs, the animals of the forest, or working alongside my brethren at the forge are to me more valuable than all the splendor of the royal court.

But I've known for as long as I can remember that I am destined to become king. And I am afraid my dearest friend, terrified that I will not be ready or capable of taking up the task of ruling.

And though I have been taught all of the necessary subjects, been trained in the arts of war and diplomacy, I can only pray that when that time comes that Aslan will give me the strength to rule well."

The princess of Archenland also wrote of her interests and fears for the future, with a frank honesty she would never have demonstrated in conversation. And to none but the young prince of Narnia did she confide a secret she had kept from her family.

"Nicky, I hesitate in even writing these next few sentences, for they will disclose a secret I have kept hidden from my family out of fear.

Yet I know you, my other half will understand and not judge as I fear my family would if they knew what I am about to write.

For years now, long before we met I have been experiencing visions of the fate of Narnia. They are so real and terrifying that even as I write this letter I tremble at what they foretell.

I see the sacred tree destroyed, the one which lord Digory planted days after Aslan created our world.

I see Jadis, our deadliest foe return in triumph, casting spells of dark power to lock Narnia in endless winter.

I watch as many of our people are bound to her service, and our subjects live without hope or joy under her rule.

You may ask why I believe these things to be true visions of the future. All I can say is that each time I receive one; I feel the truth of each impression.

I know not why Aslan has chosen to give me these warnings, nor why I the youngest was given the weight of this knowledge.

As you know from the history of our kingdoms, it is usually the eldest child who is given such abilities.

Nicky you are the only one who knows of my gift.

Please tell me honestly what I should do.

Should I speak of this to my family?

Or am I meant to keep silent until the time is right to speak of what I have seen.

I anxiously await your next letter."

Nicholas had thought long and hard about how he should reply. He knew that Alexandra's family were loving, and that if she decided to share her visions with them she would receive their support.

He suspected that her hesitation was due to a lack of confidence in her gift, and her concern over how her family would receive the news.

Three days passed before he sat at his desk to answer, with words of gentle encouragement, friendship and a deep and passionate declaration of the love he bore for the princess of Archenland.

So they continued their correspondents, until the time came for the old king of Narnia to take his final journey to Aslan's country.

Alexandra would never forget the letter her Nicky had written to her an hour after the death of his father.

"Alex, I know by now word will have reached you through the trees of the death of my father.

I thank Aslan for your friendship and love, and the sharing of thoughts we have done through our letters. I know only you will understand what I am about to write, for since our first meeting at the great snow dance, I have felt that a kinship of mind and soul exists between us which is beyond mortal words to describe.

I mourn my father, yet my heart is also heavy with the weight of the destiny I must now carry. It seems such a trivial worry at such a time, yet I cannot bring myself to fully accept the mantle of king which is mine by birthright.

If only you were here, I know you would have the right words to lift my spirits.

I write this letter in haste, as I must soon go and prepare for the funeral rites.

But before I join my courtiers I will take that short journey to the place where we met, to seek the guidance and peace only Aslan can bestow upon his servant.

Aslan be with you.

Nicky."

Thus it came to pass 2 months after the death of the old king, that Nicholas and Alexandra were married and crowned sovereigns of Narnia.

There were some who doubted their new king's ability to govern.

Nicholas knew that although he had been born a prince, he had no desire to rule. If given the choice he would have lived quietly with his consort in the northern parts of Narnia, enjoying the company of friends and pursuing his two passions, learning and designing.

Alexandra understood and loved her Nicky for his quiet kind ways, and whenever Nicholas shared his fears of failing his people with her, she was quick to remind him that there was nothing preventing him from walking amongst their subjects when court duties were light.

The young king acted upon that suggestion, often traveling throughout Narnia to visit and learn from his people.

Together they learned, and together they shouldered the weight of ruling, and in time became respected and beloved by all Narnia.

So they ruled for 25 years, unaware that soon they would be given a task which would demand the ultimate sacrifice.

The vision came to Alexandra in early summer, on a wild and stormy night which she often thought afterwards was a warning of coming disaster.

From the clarity of the image which formed before her, Narnia's queen knew she was about to witness a true vision.

A family of four children, clustered around their parents as their mother told stories of enchantment, heroism and kings.

The father, playing games with his sons and daughters, teaching even the smallest child how to hold a sword crafted of wood.

Alexandra smiled as she watched this scene. She had suspected from the fluidity of his movements, and attitude of constant vigilance that the father was skilled in the arts of war.

Yet she was puzzled. What was she meant to learn from this picture of a contented family?

Still she continued to watch with growing interest, as voices and images from another world passed before her eyes.

The small family was assembled, as the father read a letter which ordered him to fight to defend his homeland. She watched as sorrow warred with resignation upon those strong features, settling at last into a fierce determination to defend his people as he prepared to go to war.

She witnessed the mother, trying to help and protect her children in a city ravaged by war, while mourning and worrying over the fate of her husband.

Then she saw the children, being sent to live with a learned scholar until peace was declared.

But what captured Alexandra's interest the most was the following impressions, as she saw the children's coming to Narnia.

Astonished she watched as the stories of each child were revealed, and wept at the power of her lord Aslan's sacrifice.

With joy she saw the children crowned, and take up their rightful place at the Cair, on thrones made of ivory and gold.

She wanted to know more, to watch these children grow and learn to rule as she and her Nicky had done. But she was only afforded brief glimpses of the four as the vision began to fade.

The eldest king, sword drawn in defense of his homeland.

The gentle Susan, receiving all with courtesy. Swimming with the mermaids under a starlit Narnian sky.

Edmund, studying scrolls of Narnian lore, working alongside the black dwarves and being named their brother.

Lucy, so joyful and kind, dancing with the dryads and discovering the call of Aslan's creation. Going to war, fighting with dagger as her sister loosed arrows at their enemies.

Giving medicine to injured soldiers, ever a faithful and steadfast queen.

Alexandra awoke gradually, anxious to share all she had seen with her husband.

"Nicky wake up. Please I need to talk to you." An inarticulate reply was her only answer.

"It's important, I-I had another vision." That declaration immediately roused the young king. He knew that even though her family had long since accepted and supported their daughter whenever she was given this knowledge, she would always need him to listen and offer support afterwards. Just as he sought her help when the duties of king overwhelmed his spirit, so she reached out to him for reassurance and reaffirmation of their love whenever Aslan chose to send her a vision.

So he held her close, speaking words of comfort and affection, until she felt ready to share what she had seen.

And thus in the dark hours before dawn, Alexandra spoke of four children brought from another world in a time where Narnia was held captive by darkness.

Nicholas listened to his queen's tale, interrupting once or twice to ask a question or clarify an impression she had received.

At the mention of Jadis, his keen mind began to consider the myriad possibilities of what this vision could mean.

A gifted scholar, he had spent many hours devouring the history of Narnia, eager to learn all he could of anything that might threaten his people.

Unlike some of the lords and nobles of his court, Nicholas was firmly convinced that Jadis existed. There were too many ancient stories, and the sacred tree of protection which corroborated the existence of the last queen of Charn.

"What does this mean?" He did not realize he had spoken aloud until his consort answered.

"Perhaps Aslan desires us to help this family. Though what we could do to assist four children who will not rule for a century yet I can't imagine."

Nicholas remained silent, an idea slowly beginning to take shape as he recalled his wife's prophetic vision. Under his breath he murmured.

"Four. There is something significant about that. Love, how many thrones does the Cair possess?" The question was so unexpected that at first Alexandra did not respond.

"Two of course. It has always been so. Why are you--?"

Comprehension dawned as she realized the significance of her husband's question.

Nicholas continued. "Perhaps you were given this vision, so that together we could make four thrones for these future kings and queens. You know of my love for drawing. Perhaps I can design the thrones, incorporating what you have seen into their patterns."

They talked long into the night, deciding at last to ask the aid of Nicholas's relatives the black dwarves in keeping the thrones safe.

There was only one clan which Nicholas felt could be trusted with such an important task. He chose the clan of Welent, as he had won their respect and loyalty due to his fair dealings with all dwarves.

At dawn they rose to begin the business of ruling.

Nicholas was excited by the prospect of the work ahead. Guided by the vision his Alexandra had shared with him, and her insight into the characters of the four children, Nicholas began to draw.

Each throne he decided was to be made of gold and ivory. But it was the finer details which fired Nicholas's creative spirit, for he sensed that this project would challenge and fulfill his desire to create something never before seen in Narnian design.

Often he would request that Alexandra join him, upon the pretext of helping him with royal duties.

They had decided on the night she had received her vision, that their work must be done in secret, lest anyone loyal to Jadis discover the true purpose for their meeting.

Nicholas had paid close attention to the words Alexandra had felt described the four children in her vision, and wanted to reflect what she had seen of their characters and giftings in the design of each throne.

When at last his drawings were complete, he gave them to the dwarves of the clan he had chosen.

2 years passed before Nicholas and his queen were asked to meet with the leaders of the clan upon the pretext of settling a dispute. Suspecting the true purpose of the summons, Narnia's rulers made hasty preparations for their journey.

They were led to a cavern deep within the heart of the northern mountains, where the 4 thrones were stored.

Nicholas gazed proudly at the product of 2 years work. Beside him Alexandra examined each throne in detail, eager to see what her consort had envisioned based upon the revelations she had received from Aslan.

The first throne was more ornate than the rest. Alexandra could see at once that this was a throne meant for a warrior. Decorated with the picture of a shield crafted of silver, it was a true work of art. At its top was a sword also of silver, detailed in such a way that it appeared to be stretched out protectively towards the other thrones.

The second meant for the youngest brother, was adorned with intricate patterns which reminded Alexandra of the many scrolls and books in the castle's library.

She turned to smile at her husband. He would have enjoyed designing this throne, for it was a seat meant for a king who had a passion for knowledge.

At the throne's crest, Nicholas had chosen to include one of the powerful images his wife had witnessed during her vision. The picture detailed a sword shattering a wand of delicate crystal. .

The throne of the eldest queen was a strong yet elegant affair. Inlaid with mother of pearl, it reminded Alexandra of the waves breaking against the shore near the Cair. The design of a bow and arrows, formed of red coral adorned the crest of the throne, declaring to all that this queen would if necessary go to war for her people.

The last throne was the most delicate of all. Intricately worked in silver, the trunks of forest trees adorned its base, branching out into a myriad of leaves crafted of green emeralds. The arms of the throne were decorated with miniature designs of musical instruments, foremost amongst these was the flute favored by the fauns.

But the crowning glory of Nicholas's gift to Queen Lucy was to be found at the apex of the throne. Rendered in silver, the image of a dagger surrounded by rubies immediately captured the attention of Nicholas's beloved.

The significance of this choice for jewel was not lost on Alexandra. This was a warrior's dagger which would see use in many a battle.

In striking contrast, alongside the dagger was set the picture of a flask crafted of small clear diamonds.

This was not just a throne for a queen, but the seat of a warrior, musician and healer. A monarch who loved and reveled in the song of Aslan's creation.

Alexandra turned to her husband, meeting his questioning glance with a look of awe at what he had created with the help of his kin. He returned her look with a quiet smile of joy and satisfaction.

Together they had fulfilled the task Aslan had given; knowing that in the end Narnia would forever remain his precious creation.

3 months after the completion of the thrones, word came of trouble on the borders of the kingdom. Nicholas journeyed with his army into the north of Narnia to do battle with this threat to his people.

Before his departure, he commanded that the guard surrounding the tree of protection remain alert, as the safety of the kingdom depended upon its continued health and strength.

He could not know that as he fought for his homeland on the borders of Narnia, creatures loyal to Jadis surrounded the ancient tree of protection and saw to its utter destruction.

When Alexandra received word of the tree's death, she wrote at once to her consort, asking that he return at once to the Cair.

So together they waited and prepared to defend their kingdom, knowing that they would soon look upon the face of their greatest enemy.

She came for them at midnight. Proud and confident, Jadis led her forces into the courtyard of the castle, having swiftly dealt with all who opposed her by either sword or wand.

Triumphantly she ordered that Narnia's king and queen be taken to a clearing deep within the forest, as this was the place she had chosen for their execution.

Nicholas and Alexandra were driven out of their home at sword point, made to walk behind Jadis as she led them to the place she had chosen.

At a signal from the queen of Charn, those escorting the royal couple forced them to kneel before their executioner.

Nicholas met the gaze of his enemy with a calm and steadfast expression. When he spoke, his voice was clear and strong, possessing none of the terror she had hoped to hear.

"You rule only by the will of Aslan. He foretold your return days after creating this world. He also said that you would grow strong in dark sorcery, and so you have, but a day will come when he will return to Narnia and your reign will end."

There were few times in her life where Jadis allowed fury to rule her in combat, but to hear this mortal king speak with such confidence and faith was more than she could stand.

In one swift stroke, she brought her sword down, ending the life of Narnia's young monarch.

And so Nicholas took his final journey in the knowledge that his work would be kept safe, until the day four children were ready to take up the challenge of succession.

Alexandra could only watch, helpless and horrified as her consort was slain. She had known death would be inevitable, but the cruelty and joy which Jadis took in killing Her Nicky was horrible to witness.

Her reflections were cut short as Jadis turned to her, a look of mingled triumph and curiosity shining in her dark eyes.

"I know through my magic that you possess knowledge of this land's future. I wish to know all that is in store for this nation, before I send you to join your husband."

"You expect me to simply speak on command? I have no control over my gift; Aslan alone knows when I will receive another vision. And before you ask, I could no more order Aslan to grant your request then I could command the sun to rise."

Jadis glared at the queen, knowing that she spoke the truth. Still she persisted, certain that Alexandra possessed knowledge vital to the future of Narnia.

Alexandra gazed back at her enemy, eyes filled with grief, pain and fury. From the depths of her soul she cried out to the highest king of all.

"Oh Aslan, let me join you and my Nicky soon. Give me the strength to resist Jadis, to speak of nothing which would help her cause. Let me soon come to your country."

And the words which filled her spirit gave her confidence, strength and reassurance that Aslan would never forsake the world he had sung into existence.

And though she did not speak above a whisper, Alexandra's voice was full of a quiet authority and joy, as she gave what would be called the most sacred prophecy of Narnia.

"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,

When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we will have spring again,

When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone,

Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,

The evil time will be over and done."

Thus did Alexandra, queen of Narnia meet her death, knowing that her words had put fear into the heart of the one who had slain her beloved.

And for the first time in her cursed existence, Jadis knew what it was to be afraid.

She ruthlessly swallowed her terror, forcing it back into the deepest recesses of her mind, as she signaled her warriors to come forward.

From the darkness emerged all who were loyal to Jadis. The talking beasts, creatures of the forest and water who she had convinced to join her cause.

Each gazed upon the corpses of the last king and queen, before surging forward eager to desecrate and strip them of wealth and dignity.

Jadis watched with an impassive face as her warriors enjoyed their sport, reveling in the knowledge that soon she would eradicate all evidence of Nicholas and his consort from the face of her greatest enemy's creation.

She did not know how in his final moments, Nicholas, a descendent of Narnia's first king and the black dwarves, had begged the aid of Narnia's soil to keep safe the knowledge of his reign.

Of how Alexandra, a daughter of Archenland and the forest, had silently called out to the trees of the clearing, to remember and honor the sacrifice that she and her beloved had made for their kingdom.

I draw back from the tree I have chosen for my new home, shocked and amazed at the story I have just witnessed.

Swiftly I turn to begin my journey to the Cair, to inform our kings and queens of what I have just learned.

I will do as this ancient king and queen have commanded; tell their story before the Narnian court.

For I truly believe that once they have heard my tale, our four monarchs will be able to rule confident in the knowledge that they were destined to govern our nation by Aslan.

And I will ask that what is left of these ancient monarchs be given an honorable burial. It is not right that they should lay here, their sacrifices and dedication to fulfilling the will of Aslan remain lost for another century.

At last, Narnia will know the names of their forgotten king and queen.

_Note from the authoress: I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter, but university life is really hectic, and I'm absolutely exhausted. I hope this longer chapter made up for the wait. I'll be anxiously awaiting any feedback, as this chapter was the most challenging out of all the stories for this series I've written so far._

_I've always been fascinated by history, and the story of the last Romanovs is definitely intriguing and tragic._

_The idea for the story behind the thrones, I first got after reading How Did they Know by Thalion King's Daughter._

_The idea for dwarf clan Welent, and some of the designs for the thrones comes from Elecktrum's amazing stories._

_Also for the first time I've decided to post a challenge to all of you people who adore Narnia._

_Write Arianna's arrival at the Cair, her audience with the Pevensies and her sharing what she has discovered._

_Include the reactions from each of the Pevensies, and how they decide to honor Nicholas and Alexandra's memory._

_If you decide to respond to this challenge, send me an email or message, I'd love to read it._

_Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, as always feedback is most welcome._


	13. Chapter 13 Lorelei

Since the birth of Narnia my kin have kept guard at the mouth of the great river.

As is the task of all Naiads, my ancestors kept the waters of Narnia from becoming corrupted by anything that would poison their song.

According to the traditions of my people, I was trained with my sisters to take up the task of guarding the mouth of the great river from any seeking to bring war to our nation.

But beneath that task lay another which was kept secret by all born of water. For word had reached us of the prophecy which spoke of 4 kings and queens coming to end the reign of Jadis. And so I determined that she would never reach the castle of Cair Paravel, that I would do all within my power to thwart her plans.

Alas I did not then grasp the true evil of the false queen's intentions, foolishly thought that she would never corrupt the melody of water for her own ends.

She twisted the voice of the river, shaping its song into a melody of darkness, seduction and power. That music called to me, in a way which made me shudder. As a daughter of the river, I am well acquainted with the darker passions of my element; know that they also have their place in Aslan's creation. They are a part of each being, be he dryad, dwarf or human, and it would be foolish for me to say they should be ignored.

They are like the great fires lit at a forge, scorching, dangerous and intense. It is those very qualities which help to refine us, bringing us closer to Aslan as we could never be without experiencing the darker urges of the soul.

They surface in moments of grief, anger or war, and without them we would never reach our full potential.

But what Jadis did was in my eyes a desecration of the music I loved so deeply. For every dark impulse and passion was laid bare by her power, becoming notes of raw and unchecked violence and primitive desire which I fought not to articulate.

Yet I could not ignore the siren call of the thoughts this music helped to form. For as I gave voice to the darkness of my nation, despair turned to fury against Aslan for allowing this time of darkness. At the heart of my song lay a deep pain and confusion, that the highest king would allow such evil to take root in his land.

I believe it was then I sought the darker songs of my element, for the music I had sung out of joy and love of Aslan could no longer help me to give voice to the turmoil within my soul.

All Naiads know that the music of water is akin to what the centaurs call Revinim, that it is a part of our nature to sing its melody for all to hear. I more than the rest of my sisters, possessed this gifting and desire, and in time became known for the richness and purity of my voice.

But all this was no longer enough. Water was my realm, and I began to take joy in the power I commanded, twisting it to serve my purpose.

The change was so subtle that at first I was unaware that anything was amiss. Slowly, relentlessly, the waters which had been my home for so long sang a song of death and corruption, power and danger. Some of my sisters were unable to survive for more than a few months after this dreadful change. My eldest sibling became dependent on this darker music, eventually forsaking Narnia for another dwelling place.

I alone of my close kin remained, battling with my own inner demons and the seductive songs which the water tempted me to sing.

I tried to resisted with the single spark of will which was still my own, determined to keep watch over the Cair until its rightful sovereigns arrived.

But at last, will broken, mourning for my family and the need for vengeance and anger I succumbed.

Through the influence of Jadis the notes of my melody were twisted by grief, anger and vengeance until my song bore little resemblance to what it had once been.

All who passed my home were caught in the song I poured forth. Many unable to resist it met their death either in the river, or upon the rocks near the waters edge.

Darkness was now my voice, I had power and I used it to drive all back from my shores.

There came a time where I realized that I was becoming like Jadis, quenching the flow of Aslan's presence in my song by allowing the poison of the false queen's power to spread.

So I began to recall the scattered notes of my melody, a very long and difficult task.

When it was at last restored, it possessed a depth and richness of texture which had never been woven into its fabric before.

I know many rejoiced at the false queen's death and defeat, but truly I don't think anyone was more overjoyed than I when I felt her curse lifted from the waters of Narnia and saw the four crowned.

I often watched our rulers hidden in the shallows as they went about their daily tasks.

Peter our high king, often came to a large rock at the waters edge to sit and reflect. I used to watch unwilling to disturb his thoughts, as he always looked worried and anxious.

He concealed it well, beneath a mask of calm and courtesy, but I glimpsed a part of him which I suspect only his close friends and family ever beheld.

He was still a boy by human reckoning, desiring to do all within his power to protect this land Aslan had given into his care. And he was afraid, that he would never be worthy of the title or mantle of high king.

I expect only great Aslan would be able to convince him of what he meant to his people.

So I continued to watch and learn, remaining concealed until I felt ready to address our monarchs.

It was not until the return of king Peter from his journey into the west that I was given an opportunity.

I had not seen the high king since his return, so was glad when he came at sunset and took his usual place upon his favorite rock.

Yet there was now a marked difference in his posture. Before his journey, he had always looked peaceful and contented whenever he sat near the river. Now he seemed nervous, as if he expected an enemy to appear at any moment to challenge him to single combat.

Anxious and curious to learn the cause of his distress, I rose from the river to address our high king.

"Good evening your majesty. " Why this simple greeting caused him to nearly topple off of his rock I couldn't imagine. Hoping to calm his fears, I sought some topic of conversation which might distract him from his anxious thoughts.

"Is your brother King Edmund fully restored to health?"

"Yes my lady, by the grace of Aslan he is well." Slowly the tension left our young monarch as I asked for stories of his journey. He spoke of many wondrous things beyond the borders of our nation, of struggles, triumphs and the love for his brother which drove him to succeed.

And he spoke of a Naiad, holding him captive within the waters of a dark lake. Intrigued I moved closer to the shore, wanting to hear more of this stranger.

"What was the name of this Naiad?"

"Lasa my lady."

Shock coursed through me. For a few moments I could not speak so strong were the emotions which welled up within my spirit. Joy, at hearing that one I had once held dear was still living, curiosity, sorrow and longing.

"My lady, are you well?" The high king's inquiry broke in upon my thoughts and I attempted to ease his concern.

"Aye my lord. It's just that I never thought to hear that name again. It has been many years since I last saw Lasa."

"Was she a close friend?"

"More than that my king. She was my sister.

We used to sing together at twilight. She was always called to sing the darker part of our melody, while I preferred notes of mystery and the promise of joy." I paused at the perplexed glance from my sovereign. "What puzzles you my lord?"

"You speak as if you have no say in what you sing. I would venture to say that it's as if you believe the water speaks to you."

"So it does my king. Its song is constant and ever changing. Have you not heard the waters of a small brook described as joyful? That is because the waters' song is one of contentment and awe for great Aslan. Every stream, river or ocean has its part in the song which water sings, and no two places where it flows will ever sing the same one twice." I smiled as he leant forward eager and curious for more details.

"What was Lasa like before she left?"

"She was proud and beautiful, with a voice that could enchant all who listened." I saw him flinch at my final words and tried to rectify my mistake. "She always sang notes of great beauty. If it had not been for Jadis I believe she would still live near the Cair."

I told him my story then, of how after Lasa's departure I had for a time been consumed by darkness and the sorrow I felt that this son of Adam should experience the darker side of my element.

I saw him shudder as he spoke in more detail of his captivity, questioned me on how water could be so deceptive and terrifying.

"Ah but what you heard was the music of water corrupted. Water can be many things, gentle, relentless, dangerous or beautiful. It calls to all Naiads in a different way. For my sister it was the darker passions of our element which Jadis twisted until it was all she could crave and express."

I wanted to do something to calm his fear of water, to show him the beauty I had rediscovered in the music it offered to all.

Will you let me sing for you king Peter? Think of it as my apology for what my sister did to you.

"If you like my king, I will swear by all the waters of Narnia that I will never harm your kin."

The look of caution became one of shock and recognition. Relief filled me as he retook his seat upon the rock. Thank Aslan he knew of that ancient custom of any born of water. To swear an oath by our element is considered a sacred promise, one we hold nearly in as much reverence as Revinim.

A warm smile lit those noble features as he consented to my offer.

He did not know it, but I too was nervous, because I had not allowed myself to fully embrace the music of water since the defeat of Jadis.

I could not bring myself to speak of the horror I had felt each time I was forced to sing such twisted notes, or the guilt I carried for each death upon my rocks. Nor did I tell of how from the day Jadis's cruel spell had been lifted from the waters of Narnia, that I had vowed never to sing with another lest they share the fate of my lost sister or be turned to the ways of darkness by my voice.

And so I listened as my sisters have before me to the song of the great river as the first stars began to appear.

Slowly my fear left me as I listened to the notes I treasured, and at last I began to sing.

Rich and deep was the music I made that night, a song full of joy and passion, thanksgiving and a cry for understanding. For though it is a joy for all creatures of water to sing the song of their element, always there is present a reflection of the thoughts or emotions of the singer, otherwise all songs would be the same.

So I surrendered utterly to the flow of the river's music, finding at last a measure of peace as I let myself pour out all I had held back for so long to the great lion.

The sound of voices drawing ever closer came to me on the wind, yet I did not pause in my song.

Turning my head, I watched as our other monarchs joined us. They were talking and laughing together as they approached the waters edge, but at the sound of my voice they fell silent.

Then another voice joined mine, low and sweet. It was our gentle queen. Astonishment and wonder filled me, for she was singing the notes my sister had once sung before darkness touched her. I knew from Mallo of Susan's connection to water, and took great joy in the notes she sung.

Then king Peter stood to sing, in a voice deep and rich, notes of strength and the promise that he would guard his nation. In the starlight he reminded me of a living flame so intense was the look on his face as he sang. Here was a king who would do all in his power to protect his people, strengthened by the love and help of his siblings.

King Edmund sang with the voice of one who has known and tasted darkness,

I knew this music, for it was an echo of the pain and grief which had opened my heart to Jadis's false promise of vengeance. His song was the music of wind, ever changing and strong, showing me that he was a king who would always deal fairly with any who crossed his path. In each note I sensed his awe that he had been restored to his kin by the grace of Aslan.

Was this how my Lasa would have sung if she had not surrendered to the dark? I will never know, but in that moment the pain of her loss and the longing for her return were a swaged by the songs these children offered to our creator.

Queen Lucy drew out her flute, composing a melody of wild and primitive beauty. Hers was a song of the forest, of the dance which the holy trees performed, of joy, strength and faith. Yet there were also notes of danger, of a warrior's courage and determination to defend her homeland.

Water and forest, fire and wind, we all sang with a single voice to the one who is the highest king of all.

I turned to our monarchs as we concluded our song, knowing what I wanted to do.

"Your majesties, if it pleas you I would like to pledge my loyalty to you and to Narnia. If you will it I will turn back any who sail these waters seeking your destruction."

I watched as they spoke together quietly considering my offer.

King Peter stepped forward, all his previous apprehension now gone in the wake of the moments we had shared this evening.

"My lady, your offer is most welcome. We gladly accept it and ask only that you hold fast to Aslan and let us give you our friendship and help when you are in need."

Eagerly I consented to their request. I became a friend to all four, and in time realized that though I had lost much, I would always have friends willing to join my song. Yes I would always revel in the deep communion with element and creator I enjoyed when alone, but now I could once again open my heart to receive the music of others wanting to bring joy to Aslan.

And I thanked the great lion, for sending the four to me on that night, for the hope they had brought to my land, and the peace which Aslan had restored to my soul.

_Note from the authoress: Here's another chapter for you all. I got lots of writing done over the second week of Christmas holidays, so will be able to post another chapter fairly soon._

_After that I've no idea when I will be able to update, as I'm taking a full course load at university._

_I thought it would be fun to incorporate another legend into this series, so chose the story of the Lorelei._

_This tale takes place after Elecktrum's amazing story Into The West, her character Lasa is mentioned in the chapter The Lake King's Daughter._

_I've _many_ tales in mind for this series, so this story is far from over._

_Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed, I love reading all of your comments and appreciate you taking the time to post your thoughts on this story._

_Happy newyear to all of you._

_Sapphire Warrioress_


	14. Chapter 14 Leonora

_Note from the authoress: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and read this story. I love reading all of your comments and suggestions and appreciate you taking the time to post your thoughts._

_This chapter is set during the time of Prince Caspian, before the Pevensies return to Narnia._

_My apologies for any formatting errors or problems with tenses, I wrote this chapter rather quickly._

_The name Leonora comes from the opera Fidelio, written by one of my favorite composers Beethoven._

_As always comments are welcome._

_Thanks for reading._

I have no strength left. This fever has robbed me of health, beauty and the last spark of life which is beginning to fade.

But there is one thing it has not taken from me. Hope. The hope that after my death, I will be remembered not for my title of queen, but as a strong woman of Telmar.

You true Narnians rightly resent my race for conquering and enslaving your land. But your hatred is built upon our acts of war, rather than true understanding of my people.

How can you know what it is like to be humans in a land filled with creatures of legend?

To no nothing of the history of your people, where we came from or where our true home existed.

It was these thoughts which drove my people out of the mountains. Food was scarce, and at the commencement of our march our only purpose was to find somewhere to settle that would provide us with food enough for all.

So we entered Narnia, to be confronted by a host of creatures many of us had thought only legend. According to the accounts of my ancestors, we ruthlessly subdued all who sought to oppose us, crushing and in some cases destroying the last remaining members of some of Narnia's oldest inhabitants.

The people of the forest also fought valiantly, but once the ax was wielded against them they quickly withdrew from combat.

Some say that they are only sleeping, awaiting the voice of their maker to call them to war.

Others believe that the creatures we call Old Narnians are utterly extinct.

I know the truth, that some still remain in hiding, and if only I were able to address you this is what I would ask you to consider.

Yes we are a proud race, because we survived and made a home for ourselves in your land. It was not right to take it from you, but ask yourselves these questions before judging all Telmarines as cruel and grasping.

What would you have done in our position?

Would you have acted differently?

We are not so different, your race and mine. Human or centaur, dryad or talking beast, we are all the same within.

Alas that I cannot speak these thoughts aloud to all that is left of Narnia. How ironic that it is only now, when I am soon to take my final journey that all of the half formed thoughts and beliefs I have been forced to suppress out of fear for my safety and that of my son are at last making themselves known.

It was always so. My tutors were constantly frustrated at my attempts to put pen to paper.

How well I recall the scathing comments of my parents when they received reports of my progress.

There was only one art in which I excelled. For as long as I can remember, weaving and embroidery has held for me a fascination and joy which has never forsaken me. Through the careful selection of colors, the calming motion of the shuttle and the forming of pictures I at last found a way to express all I could not form with words.

Many at the court of my father praised my weaving, and as it was an acceptable occupation for a princess I was encouraged to learn all I could.

Yet my life was lonely, without the warmth of true friendship until the day I lost my way in the woods surrounding the castle.

I had been wandering the forest for what seemed like hours, anxious and frightened, when I met the creature who was to become my dearest friend.

He emerged out of the trees, a short stocky figure dressed in plain unadorned clothing. But what struck me immediately was the look of sharp intelligence and kindness I glimpsed as his eyes met mine.

"Good evening highness. Have you lost your way?"

I answered shyly in the affirmative, and he offered to escort me back to the castle.

As we walked he told me his name was Cornelius, and that he was a traveling scholar. I did not contribute much to our conversation, content to find myself in the company of a learned creature who was not expecting me to answer every inquiry with a clever response.

In a short time we were at the gates of the castle, and after giving me into the care of a soldier, my new friend took his leave.

We met often after that first encounter. Knowing that Miraz was keeping close watch on my movements, I never mentioned my growing friendship with the learned dwarf.

Cornelius never tired of relating the history of this ancient land my ancestors had conquered. I would sit for hours as my friend regaled me with stories of the old Narnia. Tales of wonder and magic, of battles and the great lion Aslan. Stories of sacrifice, love and adventure, they all were given new life as my dearest friend shared his knowledge with a daughter of Telmar.

Yet always within each tale I sensed a great unquenchable longing, a passionate devotion to Aslan and the fair land of Narnia. These and a thousand other emotions would cross the wrinkled face of my friend whenever he spoke of the four kings and queens. Those stories were always my favorite, the ones I asked for frequently when a child and still cherish in these final moments of life.

I loved to hear of Peter, a king who was skilled in the arts of war, a brother who loved his country and siblings until the day he vanished from Narnia.

I admired Edmund, for his courage in turning from Jadis, and his dedication to justice and mercy.

Susan fascinated me. A ruler capable of great compassion and gentleness, yet ready to go to war for her homeland if the need arose.

Lucy, joyful, faithful and courageous, with a warrior's bravery and skill in combat was a queen I often longed to meet.

She of all the four was the one I admired most, for not submitting to convention or tradition, for having the courage to remain unchanged by the expectations everyone placed upon any member of a royal house.

Secretly I wished to be like The Valiant, yet knew that could never be, for I was too quiet and reserved to ever be remembered for anything accept the strength of my devotion to my people.

Years passed, and as was expected I married the heir to the throne, and in time bore him a son.

I deeply mourned my husband when he was murdered by Miraz, fearing that I would be the next victim in his quest for power.

Yet he ignored me, no doubt thinking that I was too timid and weak to pose a serious threat.

I thank Aslan that he under estimated me, for at that time I had not yet conceived the idea which would grow into the most important project of my life.

My plan was simple and daring. I would weave a tapestry which would express in the only way I knew all of the unspoken thoughts I had not found the courage to voice. I would say that I was making it for my boy Caspian, and hopefully that would keep Miraz from guessing my true purpose.

I poured everything I had into that tapestry. Every story, every scrap of the history of Narnia and my people came alive under my fingers. Each moment I spent in this task brought me great joy and satisfaction, for though fear held me back from speaking my thoughts boldly, I had found a way to express all I had learned.

Yet I was cautious. Knowing that Miraz was closely observing my activities, I took care to conceal the Narnian stories amongst depictions of Telmarine battles and history.

I selected each costly thread with care, chose the colors I would need in a way which would reflect the heart of each story I would depict.

I told the story of Narnia's creation by great Aslan, of the crowning of Frank and Helen and the planting of the sacred tree of protection.

I wove the tale of my ancestors, their search for home and their brutal conquest of Narnia.

And at the center of the tapestry, in threads of bright gold I wove the story of the four, being crowned by the one I now call my lord, the great lion Aslan.

I have given my tapestry to Cornelius, in the hope that one day he will show it to my son, tell him of our friendship and my sorrow that I will not be there to offer help and encouragement.

It is my hope that my boy will come to know me through the stories of my friend, and treasure my final gift in the knowledge that it expresses everything that has lain at the center of my soul throughout my life.

Death is near, but I no longer fear it, for I know that beyond its gates waits Aslan, and all who are loyal to his name.

As I surrender myself into the lion's keeping, I pray that my boy will not forget that he is also of Telmar, learn to take pride in the true meaning of that name and bring freedom to a broken nation.

May Aslan bless my legacy, and grant that my son will in time become what I have always hoped. The deliverer of Narnia, and the true voice of my people.


	15. Chapter 15 Edward and Richard

The sound of marching feet awakens my brother and me 2 hours before dawn.

Automatically I turn towards the opposite corner of the room where Edward stands shaking with suppressed rage.

I too am furious, but have learned during the years of our incarceration to not show anger before our guards.

How long have we been here, prisoners on the orders of Miraz?

At least we are still together. That is one thing to be thankful for amidst this time of darkness. That and the fact that we have not yet become what all in Narnia believe us to be, madmen.

The footsteps pause outside our door, and a torch is briefly raised flooding our cell with light.

2 Telmarine guards gaze at us with haughty indifference, but soon retreat under the icy glares we send their way.

Grim joy fills me as I watch them leave. I have yet another thing to be thankful for, even our enemies recognize us as adversaries worthy of respect.

In the wake of their departure silence returns, and once again my thoughts turn to the time before our imprisonment.

I recall the house where Edward and I were born, located not far from that ancient region of Narnia called Bevearsdam.

How our parents worked hard to provide for us, father as a soldier, mother as a seamstress.

Sorrow fills me as I recall the fever which killed them both, and the promise I gave to them in their final hour to care for my brother.

I did my best to fulfill my promise, and for a while Edward and I lived in peace.

In time we were both asked to work at the royal castle, I as a soldier, Edward as a scholar. These were occupations we both knew would suit us, and so 2 years after our parents had died we moved to the castle.

We served Caspian the 9th and his queen Leonora, never imagining that it would be a member of their family who would falsely imprison us without a chance to speak.

Yet looking back I should have suspected something, for we were too close in the counsel of those other lords who remained loyal to the little prince after the assassination of his father.

How well I remember the night we were captured, awakened in the middle of the night by an urgent summons to the throne room.

We did not realize until it was too late that we had walked into a trap, and though we fought hard we were eventually subdued and brought to this prison cell in Beruna.

I remember Edward wondering what excuse Miraz would give for our absence, and it was not long before my brother's question was answered.

Our guards have from the beginning always spoken openly before us. It was through these precious scraps of conversation that we at last discovered the truth. That Miraz, the lord we had served out of duty, awaiting the time when the son of our true monarch would be old enough to take up the throne, had said that we were both mad and had us locked away.

For weeks we hoped that one of our friends would see through Miraz's deception, that somehow we would be set free and find a place to hide within the Narnian forests.

But weeks turned to months, and then years and we remained firmly within Miraz's grasp.

Few things now remain with us from our old life, but one of the things which helps to sustain our spirits and intellect is Edward's talent for storytelling. Often I tease my brother, saying that if he never became a knight, he could always make an excellent living as a bard.

I thank the god who blessed him with that gift, for surely we would long ago have fallen into darkness if it had not been for my brothers tales.

Edward's knowledge of Narnian lore is vast, something I quickly grow to appreciate as the years pass. I truly believe that no bard at the court of Miraz could surpass my brother, for his skill with words and his talent for making each story come to life is a precious gift.

Together we share stories of the conquest of Narnia by our ancestors, and the creatures which some say still remain hidden throughout the land.

And on a wild stormy night, Edward shares a story which all Telmarines are forbidden to mention. He speaks of four children, come from another world to aid Narnia in a time of war and despair. Of the struggles the eldest siblings face, and how Edmund tempted by darkness betrays his family to Narnia's greatest enemy.

I listen to this part of the story with a mixture of curiosity and astonishment. This is the first time I have ever heard this story without interruptions, and I cannot help but notice how Edmund was also captured and imprisoned.

Intrigued I learn of the defeat of Jadis, by Aslan and these 4 children, and their coronation at Cair Paravel.

But it is the tales of Edmund I frequently request, especially on the nights where our guards torment with words or beatings in an attempt to break our spirits.

These stories help to give me courage, and restore my hope that one day Edward and I will receive the precious gift of freedom

I am no bard, but from an early age I have always enjoyed watching the soldiers practicing swordplay in the castle courtyard. Out of that interest grew a determination to succeed in weapons training.

I will never forget our practice sessions, where Edward and I learned together, where I realized I was made for wielding a sword.

So during our captivity I determinedly recall the hours spent in weapons training and battle tactics and try to think of a way to ensure that the training my brother and I have received will not be neglected.

An insightful comment from one of the soldiers assigned to teach me the sword gives me the answer I am seeking.

"The stronger swordsman does not necessarily win. It is speed. Speed of hand, and speed of mind."

I follow this advice using a steady trickle of water at the north corner of our cell for practice. The goal of this exercise is simple. To sweep a hand through the drops without getting wet.

At first Edward and I are frustrated as we meet with no success, and I begin to wonder if my idea is foolish.

But gradually through hard work and determination, we achieve our goal and move onto the challenge of finding something to use as a substitute for a sword.

It is Edward who thinks of a plan. And so for a few moments one evening we pretend to be what all Narnia thinks we are, and in the course of our convincing struggle shatter one of the two chairs our cell contains.

As we hope, our guards are too preoccupied to notice that two of the sturdy legs are missing when they take away the debris.

So we continue our training, hone our skills in the hope that one day we will be set free.

Years pass, and we receive scattered reports that our prince has fled from Miraz, and is gathering an army to fight.

Sorrow fills me, for now more than ever I wish my brother and I could have joined our prince. But we can do nothing but wait, and hope that the great lion Aslan will grant his nation freedom and victory.

Several weeks pass, until one morning at dawn the silence is shattered by the sound of music and revelry.

Eagerly we rush to the window, glad for anything to break the monotony of our existence.

And what we see causes Edward to give a joyful shout, as I struggle to hold back tears.

For at the head of a great procession is a huge golden lion, glorious and terrible, a true and living king who I will be proud to serve.

At a word from the lion the doors of our prison are thrown wide.

Filled with wonder and joy, Edward steps forward, and I find myself following my brother in the knowledge that we will never return to this prison, that at last we are free.

We join the revelers, scarcely able to believe that all we have longed for has come to pass.

I begin to run, reveling in the gift of my freedom, and the knowledge that all I have clung to in faith has at last been proved a reality.

I meet Edward's eyes briefly as I pass him, and know that he is sharing similar thoughts.

And always ahead of us, strong, awesome and real is our lord Aslan, running smoothly and effortlessly over the land he long ago sang into existence.

For an instant those deep eyes meet mine, in a look of mingled challenge and invitation. Next moment the great lion is out of sight, but in that second where our gazes meet I know what he is proposing.

For too long have my brother and I remained behind stone walls, prisoners of fear as well as injustice. Now by the grace of Aslan we have been set free, to live and rejoice in the time left to us.

I quicken my pace, until I am racing with all my strength, Edward at my side. Together we race ahead of the revelers, outdistancing Queens Lucy and Susan, wanting only to express joy and gratitude to Aslan.

And although I cannot glimpse his face, I know that he is pleased with our offering, that all we have endured was not in vain.

Truly with Aslan, all things are possible.

_Note from the authoress: Here's another chapter for you all. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, it's your awesome comments which encourage me to keep posting on this site._

_The idea for this chapter came from a number of sources._

_In Lewis's Chronicle Prince Caspian according to wikipedia, there are the two brothers of Bevearsdam who are locked up as madmen._

_I haven't checked this idea against the book as I can't find an audio copy, so am just going on the assumption that that's accurate._

_The names for my characters, I took directly from one of my favorite novels, Jane Eyre._

_And the ideas for each of the brothers sharing their talents, Richard's lessons in swordplay etc come from another of my favorite novels, The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas._

_The quote Richard remembers comes from the recent movie of this novel, definitely worth watching._

_If you haven't read either Jane Eyre or Dumas's novel, I highly recommend them, believe me you won't regret it._

_Thanks again to all my readers for your support._

_I'll have another chapter posted soon, as well as an update to my Greek mythology tale for those of you following that story._

_After that I've no idea when next I'll be able to post, as I'm posting now what I got finished over the Christmas holiday and this term is as usual crazy. _


	16. Chapter 16 Tarva

_Note from the authoress: Here's another chapter and another fun perspective to add to this series._

_This is the last of the chapters I had finished over Christmas break, so there won't be anymore updates for a while, as university is keeping me busy._

_Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed, I enjoy reading all of your comments. They encourage me to keep on writing._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter._

_Thanks for reading._

It has been 2 mortal centuries since I last gazed upon the land of Narnia.

I come at the command of my lord Aslan, to bring a message of hope to the people he has never forsaken.

But as I look on the world the great lion sung into being, recalling the sheer beauty and wonder of its birth, my joy at once again beholding Narnia turns to shock and sorrow.

The forests are still and lifeless, animals are silent, even the waters of Narnia no longer reflect my light with the joy and reverence they gave to my people long ago.

This is a broken land, suffering under the weight of oppression.

Sorrow fills me as I recall how centaurs would gather to welcome my coming, take joy in the messages I and my sister would display for all to read who possessed the skill.

Now there is only silence and a nation clothed in fading glory to greet my coming.

Do any of the Narnian creatures still exist?

Perhaps the centaurs still walk this land, for it is said that they are blessed with long life.

I can only hope that some of that noble people remain, for otherwise my journey will have been in vain. But surely Aslan would not have sent me if there is no hope.

Desperately I gaze down at the forests, seeking even one glimpse of the Narnia I once knew.

And at last my efforts are rewarded.

Relief fills me as I see a male centaur meet my gaze, smile in recognition and with his children raise their swords in the ancient salute of welcome.

I thank Aslan that some traditions have not faded with the passage of centuries, that some still live who recall that ancient greeting meant for all warriors who serve the highest king.

My course leads me north, over the castle where men from Telmar now rule. For an instant anger burns within me, and I struggle to calm my fury.

You who dwell on the earth will not know that the rage of a star, or any creature born of the elements cannot be easily controlled. For we are born of fire and air, and cannot by will alone govern fury, but must find another way to release such strong emotions.

For a moment my light is darkened, colored by the helplessness and sorrow I feel for my lord's creation.

This race of Telmarines govern in ignorance of what it is to safeguard Aslan's people. For though they are descendents of the lord Adam, their claims to be the rulers of Narnia by right of conquest make a twisted mockery of Aslan's decree, that children of Adam and Eve should ever rule his creation.

For though all in Telmar can claim the honor of that noble lineage, they rule with neither the knowledge nor blessing of the lion. Instead they govern through fear and cruelty, though there are many of Telmar who do not share the views of the nobles who have stolen the mantle of kingship over my lord's creation.

Automatically I look down upon the towers of this Telmarine castle, and stay my course as I glimpse 2 figures gazing eagerly at the evening sky.

I draw closer; curious as to the identity of these 2 who await my coming. Carefully I slow my steps, until I am directly overhead.

One is a son of earth and Adam, learned and well versed in the ancient lore of Narnia.

I watch as he turns to the figure beside him, speaking joyfully of my coming and the deeper meaning it foretells for Narnia.

His companion is a boy of noble birth, eager and intelligent, with a thirst for tales of ancient Narnia that I expect his friend will be hard put to satisfy.

My sorrow for Aslan's creation turns to joy and the first stirrings of hope as I watch them. There is hope that all that is best and glorious of Narnia will not be forgotten, if a son of Telmar shows such interest and compassion for his subjects.

My musings are interrupted as I sense the coming of another star

Joy fills me as I recognize the fiery trail of light which heralds the coming of a star who is my close kin. , for it is my sister Alambil who has been sent to me.

Even I, a star can read little of the purposes of Aslan and his great father, accept as they allow. But as I turn to embrace my sister I know that through this boy will come restoration for Aslan's people. It is there, in the dark eyes for any to read, a strength forged from hardship and a love for all creatures that will help him find the wisdom to rule well.

I see the same knowledge reflected in the face of my sister, and together we dance a dance of joy, thanksgiving and praise to the one who is ever faithful just and true.

As we turn to depart I look once more at the young prince and his tutor.

I will not see them again until the hour each is called to aslan's country, so I fix their images in my mind, determined to remember their names.

It is my sister who helps me to realize the deeper purpose of our visit as we alter our course westward.

"My brother, I feel your distress at Narnia's desolation. I also mourn and long for a return of the golden age. But just think. All stars have their appointed steps, and perhaps we were meant to see Narnia as it is now, so that we might give hope to her people, even help to usher in a time of joy once more."

I draw closer to my sister, realizing the truth and wisdom of her words. And find within me the faith to surrender my fears for Narnia into the keeping of her highest king and his great father.

For surely it is best to leave the care of such an extraordinary and joyful people to their creator, for only he will be able to give them solace in this time of hardship.

I may be a star who is called to bring a message of triumph and victory, but there are still lessons for me to learn.

In that knowledge I take my leave with my sister, at peace at last with the destiny of a land I have always considered my home.


	17. Chapter 17 Bacchus

_Note from the authoress: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. It took me a while to write, and life has been really stressful lately._

_Here's something a little different for all my readers._

_If anyone wants to know more of the story of Semele, I'm working on a retelling of her legend which can be found on my profile._

_Hope you enjoy the chapter._

_As always feedback is welcome._

_Thanks for reading._

I was destined by the fates to be a reflection of the passions of men, their joys, struggles and the darkness of which every human soul is capable.

You who know my story will already be acquainted with the tale of my birth.

Of how Semele my mother and a mortal princess became the lover of Jupiter, and made her fatal request, that she might see him in all his glory.

In vain did he attempt to dissuade her, for she also was one who followed the siren call of power and driven by curiosity and the need to behold the true face of her lover boldly made her request.

And so Jupiter consented, and though he revealed only the smallest portion of his glory to Semele, she was in the end a mortal overcome by that brief glimpse of immortality.

When grown I was welcomed on Olympus, and often traveled to the mortal realm to teach the art of wine making.

But the ancient world of men was not the only place I visited throughout my travels.

As a god no world was closed to me, and thus I soon was welcomed into the glorious land of Narnia, sung into being by the great lion Aslan.

Often I visited it with my Maenads, reveling in the Narnians love of life and celebrations.

Not until the coming of Jadis was I barred from entering.

For her magic had corrupted the very essence of Narnia, twisted each note of its ancient song of creation.

Neither I nor my Maenads could enter, for our power could only flourish in places where all elements remained untainted.

Under Jadis's rule, water's song was poisoned,

Rich soil became drenched with the blood of the innocent, and so any chance of my gaining access to Narnia was thwarted until the return of Aslan to break the sorceress's power.

With joy I heard of the defeat of Jadis and the crowning of the Pevensies.

Other duties kept me from coming to Narnia during their reign, but always I made sure to know what was passing in the world I had grown to love.

Not until Narnia's need was great did I gather my followers and join the battle for her freedom.

Foes who fought with sword or spear were theirs to conquer and bring to justice.

And so while the kings and queens of old fought for their broken land, I and my followers sought out the darker remnants of Narnia's woods and streams which weapons could not defeat.

For those creatures who had sought to awaken Jadis, embraced without restraint the darker passions of their element were mine according to the ancient laws.

For who better to find and bring destruction on these enemies of the great lion, then those who were intimately acquainted with the darker urges of the soul?

They sensed our coming, and though the attempt was futile many tried to escape, using every art at their command to avoid capture.

But I had been accustomed to such tactics for untold millennia, and pursued each with relentless implacability until they all stood helpless surrounded by my followers.

I beckoned them forward, and with wild cries they hurled themselves upon those of the forest disloyal to Aslan. Dark called to dark as my Maenads tore them apart, reveling in the spilling of corrupted essence and destruction of the creatures of water and forest that had rejected the lion's call.

When the last creature had fallen, and the battle was finally won we gathered to feast with the Narnians.

The revelry had scarcely begun when I first caught sight of Lucy.

I had seen her before, as Aslan had led his forces in victory across his creation, but had not had time to do more than glimpse her face before she became lost in the growing crowd of followers.

Now she stood proudly beside her siblings, who were watching my Maenads and me with looks of apprehension.

She of all the four was unafraid, dared to leave the protection of her siblings and approach me with hands outstretched in welcome.

I saw at once that she was a true queen, regal and gracious, with a joy and passion for life which some would have considered improper to display so openly

If she had not been a queen and servant of Aslan, destined to return to her own world at the bidding of the great lion, I would have urged her to join my followers.

But hers was a different destiny, and though I might enjoy her company for this feast I knew that in the end she would be called back to her own world.

A grim smile touched my lips as I heard her sister's comment, saying that she would not feel safe if it were not for the presence of Aslan.

The eldest queen was right to warn her sister, for the dark sensual and bloody rites were still an integral part of my essence, and I could no more ignore their siren call here than in any other world.

And though these monarchs possessed great wisdom and knowledge, only the youngest queen could grasp the darkness of which I was capable of inspiring in all who heeded my call.

Yes, I came to bring joy to a people who had long been in need of it, but there was also a deeper part of my worship which many shrank from acknowledging. For it expressed the worst of which humanity or any being who had tasted and loved darkness could do if given the opportunity.

I saw in Lucy's eyes the weight and acceptance of the darkness I and my followers welcome.

Unspoken between us was the darker truth of my coming that I was more than a god who delighted in wild revelry and glorious feasts.

She of all her kin would understand, though all of her siblings had fought their own battles and struggled to comprehend and overcome their own journeys along the darker paths.

For she was a child of the forest, carried in her blood the ability to sense its wild irresistible music.

And because of that gift she knew that there could be no joy without sorrow, or love without hatred, death without life.

The forest stripped masks away, revealed the truth in all its stark and terrible glory, and few there are among the race of men who can find the courage to hear the implacable voice of truth.

On that night I saw not just a queen, but a daughter of Aslan who had for too long been separated from what brought her strength and joy.

I knew that she was close to weeping overcome with the sheer elemental ferocity of our dance, that she craved what she had been separated from for many ages of her world.

It was more than the friends and loved ones she had left behind which Lucy had missed during her absence. It was the air, the trees, the song and life of Narnia which she desired.

Never before had I felt such desperate longing from a mortal, and so I let Narnia's youngest queen speak as we continued to dance.

"I've missed Narnia so, and Aslan most of all. And the trees, I think it's their song I've never forgotten since I first heard it after our coronation. It's what I tried to hear when we came back, and when I found out that the trees were silent it almost broke my heart, because to me they are Narnia's voice; a reflection of Aslan's presence."

I said nothing, knowing that she needed someone to listen as she spoke of all that was troubling her thoughts.

It's even worse in England, because everyone expects me to act according to the customs and expectations of our people.

At least here I commanded respect as queen, and whenever duties were too heavy I could always slip away to the forest.

And I know that soon I'll have to return, that once again I'll be separated from the music of Narnia.

I want to never forget Narnia's song. To take back to my own world a memory of what it is to be truly alive, a daughter of Aslan, the forest and Narnia."

"Then Queen Lucy, I will give you that memory you seek."

I led her smoothly into another dance, one which reflected the untamable spirit of Narnia's forests and waters.

She gave herself up to the music of the wild, allowed its rhythm to guide her steps and voice as she joined in the cry of my Maenads.

"Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi."

It burst forth from the throat of The Valiant with a ferocity of which many would have thought her incapable. Only Aslan, the children of the forest, and I were not surprised.

For too long had Lucy been bound by convention, held in check that part of herself which wanted only to revel in the music of forest, storm and wind.

In Narnia she had found opportunities to answer the ancient call of the woods, to offer up her adoration and love to the great lion by joining the dance of the dryads.

But even then she was struggling to find her place as queen, to balance expectation with the untamable spirit with which she had been blessed.

In time she had grown into a queen unlike any other, a woman capable of deep joy, compassion and courage.

But the return to her own world had forced her to lay aside that hard won mantle, to become a child when inside was a daughter of the lion and the forest longing to be heard.

And so on that night I vowed that she would know the wild joy of my followers, so that she might take back to her own world a memory to sustain her during times of hardship, longing and sorrow.

Her siblings watched with apprehension. But Lucy danced without fear knowing that with Aslan near, and because of her I would refrain from the darker rites this night. For that part of my nature had been assuaged by the spilling of corrupted essence, as I and my Maenads took our vengeance against those of Narnia who had chosen darkness over Aslan.

She knew that it was Aslan's command alone which held me back from urging the revelers to taste and glory in the darker parts of my worship.

And so she cast aside caution and restraint, and though I knew she could never accept the mantle of Maenad I named her one of mine on that night in the secret places of my soul.

I claimed her for every dance, and at the feast she sat at my right, crowned with a wreath of ivy and oak leaves.

The choicest meats and fruits were set before her, and she eagerly partook of them with the enthusiasm of the young.

Throughout all of that night's revelry, she was always at my side, gorging upon the wild music of the awakened forest and taking joy in the company of friends and the presence of Aslan.

And when at last she sank down content beside her siblings, I saw in her eyes renewed strength and joy. It was no longer Lucy Pevensie who offered me a look of measureless gratitude as I prepared to depart, but Queen Lucy the Valiant, in whom the best of Narnia and her own world resided.

From across the dying bonfire, the deep eyes of Aslan met mine, and I knew that he was pleased with what I had done, that my gift to Lucy would as I hoped give her strength until the hour he called her home.

In that knowledge I and my followers took our leave, knowing that Aslan's creation would always welcome our return in times of war or peace, that she had long ago claimed us as her own, part of what it meant to be called a true Narnian.


	18. Chapter 18 Deborah

_Note from the authoress: Wow! Thanks for all of the amazing reviews for the last chapter._

_I'm glad you are all enjoying this story, I'm definitely having fun coming up with new chapters to write. I haven't read the books in ages, so writing this story is a great reason to go back and reread the chronicles._

_For this story I'm jumping ahead to Voyage of the Dawn Treader, exploring another character Lewis briefly referenced._

_As always feedback is greatly appreciated._

_Enjoy._

All my life I have lived on Avra, one of the lone islands scattered throughout the eastern sea.

I was born to poor parents, the only child Aslan saw fit to give, for after my birth the healers said that my mother could never risk another pregnancy.

My father is a fisherman, and from an early age I often joined him in helping to mend nets or go out with him in one of the boats our family owned.

My mother was a weaver, known throughout the islands as a skilled artist. But to me and the other children of our village, she was best known for her stories of the seas and far off lands.

And though I loved to hear tales of Narnia, and the world beyond my island home, never did I once think of leaving. I loved the sea, and the quiet life of a fisherman's daughter, and nothing ever made me want for a more luxurious existence.

I remember the morning they came in a small sailing ship, seven noble lords seeking knowledge of the sea and the country of Aslan.

I along with the other maidens of the village rushed eagerly down to the shore, wanting to catch a glimpse of these strangers.

Visitors to our island were rare, as was any news from the world beyond,

How proud I was when my father was chosen to act as spokesman, sharing all he could of the seas beyond our shores and the dangers they presented.

I remember the day six of the lords departed, eager to take the adventure Aslan would send them, confident that they would see many strange lands and return with exciting tales to tell.

The death of my mother during my fourteenth year dealt a crippling blow to my father and me. Yet we took comfort that she was now with Aslan, and drew strength from each other as we struggled to go on without the warmth of her presence.

It was in my 16th summer that I met the man who would become my best friend and consort.

I knew little of him; accept that he was well respected throughout the islands. I sensed within him a love for the life I shared with my family, one simple and devoid of the trappings of wealth.

At first I did not recognize him as one of those lords who had come to our island long ago. When I learned of his identity, I was worried that he might not consider me a worthy consort.

But as we continued our courtship, I came to know him as a man of honor, loyal and just, who treated anyone, be he lord or fisherman with the same gentle courtesy.

A year after we met, he asked my father for my hand in marriage. Willingly he gave his consent, and after our wedding we moved into a cottage near my father's house.

Our life went on sometimes peaceful or stormy as our wills clashed. And often when he thought I was not looking, my husband would turn and gaze out at the blue waters of the sea, his strong features clouded by a look of mingled longing and concern.

And I knew he was thinking of his Narnia, of the little prince he had been forced to abandon, and the false king who now ruled there.

I would not see him for several hours when this melancholy took possession of his soul, but I knew he would be walking up and down the beach, praying to Aslan for peace and the strength to relinquish the burden of guilt he could not bring himself to cast off.

Knowing there was little I could do when these times came to trouble my friend and husband, I returned to the simple cottage we had made into our home, to prepare his favorite meal.

And in the dark of those nights I held him close, whispering words of love and comfort, joining him in his petitions to the great lion that his Narnia and our island might one day know freedom at last.

The birth of our daughter brought us great joy. She was named Leonora, and when I questioned my husband as to the significance of this choice, he told me she was named for a Narnian queen.

Two years later our fortunes changed for the better, and we built a modest house overlooking the bay.

My husband possessed rich lands, and made use of the flourishing slave trade in the islands by purchasing some to help tend his estates.

I never saw him treat them as servants; rather he looked upon each as friends and was always ready to offer aid whenever it was needed.

So our life went on, and my husband and I soon became respected and made many friends throughout the islands.

I will never forget the day our king came to our shores. It had started like any other ordinary day, as I rose to prepare the morning meal.

Over breakfast Bern told me he would once again be visiting the governor in an attempt to persuade him to end the slave trade.

I truly admired his persistence, for I had watched as he grew more and more frustrated by our governor's indifference to the cruelty of this practice, how every petition he wrote came back unopened, and finally when he was ordered not to appear before the governor or the consequences could be severe.

Together we had tried to think of another way to help, and it was then I sought my father's advice.

The three of us decided to work together in secret, joined by some of our trusted friends, by purchasing slaves from the pirates to either work for us, or arrange passage on one of my father's boats away from the islands.

At least then some might return to their homes.

I bless the day our king set foot on our shores, for when my husband came home that night with our sovereign I saw the spark of hope rekindled in his gaze.

With joy I and my daughter welcomed our king, wishing him success and Aslan's blessing for their mission on the morrow.

By sunset of the following day, all on Avra knew of the king's triumph and the end of slavery on the islands.

Many came to my door to hear of my husband's part in the overthrowing of our incompetent governor.

No one was more astonished than I when I heard that king Caspian had appointed Bern Duke of The Lone Islands. Yet Bern was quick to reassure me that he wanted nothing of the trappings the title suggested, and he was content with the house we had and would not hear of moving.

This was welcome news to me, for I was having enough trouble reconciling myself to the fact that I was now a duchess.

Now I stand with my consort on Avra's shore, watching our king's ship named The Dawn Treader sail towards the east.

Much has changed since my childhood, and I know that many challenges and struggles are ahead for me and my family.

But some things remain strong and unchanged, my love for Bern, my family, and the friends I cherish so deeply.

And older than all the rest runs my love of Aslan, the sea and this island I will ever call my home.

I have lived all my life on Avra.

And I have never regretted my choice.


	19. Chapter 19 King Edmund The Just

_Note from the authoress: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews of the last chapter. And thanks to Miniver for pointing out that I forgot to add a reference to the Four for Deborah's story._

_I'll be going back to rewrite that chapter at some point in the future._

_The idea for this story popped up a while ago, I hope you enjoy this fun perspective and the bits of Arthurian legend I added._

_I may do other stories from Susan, Peter or Lucy's view, but so far have no ideas written for those chapters._

_My thanks also to Elecktrum, for shareing her awesome Narnian tales. Peter's knife and the _history_ behind its forging, as well as its role in protecting Peter can be found in her stories Black Dwarfs, Blue River, and Into The West._

_Thanks again for everyone's interest in this story._

_As always I appreciate any feedback._

_Enjoy._

I never realized until Susan's horn called us back to our kingdom, the emptiness within my soul I had struggled to suppress since we came back through the wardrobe.

Relentlessly I forced such feelings back, telling myself that I must learn to treasure Narnia as a wonderful blessing from Aslan, not spend every waking moment longing for a return to the kingdom I had grown to love.

Of all of us Lucy had the hardest time adjusting. Often I would see her glancing out the window of The Professor's mansion, her eyes filled with a great longing and something else akin to the look of a trapped animal.

In time I moved passed the shock of being taken from one home to another, even convinced myself that the lingering sense of something precious lost did not exist.

Until that moment on the station platform when I heard the strong and pure notes of Susan's horn.

For all of us it was different.

Lucy's face was immediately full of a wild joy, the look of a person who has just been led to an oasis in the desert.

Susan looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be afraid or angry, and I think it was only then I realized how deeply she had been hurt by our return to England.

Susan so calm and logical had had the most trouble adjusting to Narnia, only to be taken back to our own world and forced to once again become a child on the threshold of change.

Peter's face was filled with hope and excitement, and the quiet strength which had characterized his rule as The Magnificent.

How can I describe the effect that remnant of Narnian music had upon me?

It satisfied something deep within, became a summons felt not by the heart, but the soul, the essence, all that had forged and shaped me into King Edmund the Just.

I had tried to forget what I had once been, buried my disappointment and confusion beneath a thousand trivial affairs of my first homeland.

But that music of Narnia brought everything back in a single glorious moment, kindling excitement and joy in my being as I felt the magic take hold.

And in that breathless second where I and my siblings were summoned from one world to another, I thanked Aslan for this precious chance, for granting the prayers I had so often voiced in the secret places of my mind that I might some day return to my kingdom.

Joy turned to shock as I saw what had become of our land, learned of the Telmarenes and their cruel reign of terror.

I was as eager as Peter for war, to give these enemies a taste of my sword and show them that the four sovereigns of old were not mere legends.

With concern I watched as Peter and Susan ignored Lucy's proclamation that she had seen Aslan.

Years later I would often wonder what would have happened if we had listened to my little sister. But as Aslan has told countless of his children, no one is ever told what would have happened if they had made a different choice.

Because of our refusal to heed my sister's voice, and Peter's shock and anger at what had become of our nation, many lives were lost and much time squandered.

I marched back to our headquarters with the Narnians, sick and mourning the loss of our friends who had died so needlessly during our failed assault on our enemy's stronghold.

They were utterly exhausted, hopeless and willing to do anything to restore the glory of Narnia.

With horror I stood helpless as Caspian agreed to the dwarf's scheme, and two dark creatures began a terrifying ritual.

I saw a reflection of my own shock in the eyes of my siblings, as the hag produced a wand identical to the one I had shattered at the battle of Beruna.

I wanted to call out, to warn everyone in this cavern that what they were attempting was dangerous and foolish.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't utter a sound, and was forced to stand frozen as the hag continued her chant.

Dark magic stirred, taking the shape of a wall formed of ice crystals.

For a moment I became distracted by the conflict around me, as I and my siblings joined battle with those loyal to Aslan, Caspian and Narnia.

But as I turned from dispatching the half transformed werewolf, I saw something which turned the blood in my veins to ice.

And as everyone looked on, a form began to emerge from the wall of frozen crystals, one I knew all too well.

Not since Beruna had I felt her presence. That horrific combination of seductive beauty and icy malice which had corrupted Narnia for a century.

Echoes of temptation, of the siren call of power and the desire to rule unchallenged filled my senses, momentarily halting my advance towards the wall of glittering ice.

How could Peter let this happen?

Why didn't he stop Caspian and those others from performing such a dark ritual?

These and a thousand other questions filled my mind. But with them came the bitter understanding that I had no right to condemn. For I had once committed worse treachery, and but for the grace of Aslan might have helped to bring about Narnia's destruction.

Cautiously I moved forward, trying with all my strength to ignore the horrific memories Jadis's image evoked.

Something stirred within me, the memory of my father telling my siblings and I the story of another king who was chosen to fight the darkness seeking to destroy England.

Magic and destiny had given him the task of drawing a blessed weapon from a stone, the strength to rule and lead his people through the years of his reign with wisdom, courage and faith.

He too had been only a boy then, driven by the call of destiny to take up a sword crafted of magic untainted.

I was no Arthur, but in that moment I remembered the knife I carried at my belt. I had retrieved it from the treasure chamber, thankful that it unlike Susan's horn had not been lost during the years of our exile.

I recalled Peter's stories of how it had helped protect him on his journey into the west, and knew what must be done.

Fury filled me as I saw Peter and Caspian struggle to overcome Jadis's seductive power.

Like the young King Arthur, I alone could raise the only weapon capable of defeating this specter of evil.

The knife I had forged for Peter long ages ago, made out of deep affection for my brother was still bright and sharp, possessing a magic which Peter and I had never fully comprehended.

All I cared about was that it was more than capable of ending this twisted ritual.

Forged from the blue steel, it was as much a part of Narnia as the blue river wherr it had been found, and like everything in Narnia was a creation of her lord and creater Aslan.

None heard my cry amidst the shattering of ice and the dying screams of my tormenter.

Yet I called out in a clear voice like the one used to encourage my soldiers when I was still The Just.

A single word, which contained my hope for the renewal of my beloved Narnia, utter rejection of all which Jadis could offer, and an unshakable confidence in my maker Aslan.

It embodied the strength and courageous heart of England, and all that I had struggled, fought for, and become in my time as king of Narnia.

No longer would I seek to forget the title Aslan had given me, for it was as much a part of me as the name my parents had given me at the hour of my birth.

Had any amongst the watching Narnians heard my cry they would not have understood its significance.

But I was sure as I brought Peter's knife down in a gleaming ferocious arc, that my siblings would know why I chose the name of another powerful weapon known throughout our first homeland as my defiant battle cry.

"Excalibur!"


	20. Chapter 20 Elaina

It never ceases to amaze me, the joy my people take in life and Aslan's creation even during the darkest moments of life.

I can hardly believe it has only been a few short years since I came to this land I now call my home.

As I ride through the woods on this bright morning, my thoughts turn back to the day my husband returned to my father's island to claim me as his bride.

He had spoken to me before departing on his journey to the world's end, asking that he might talk with my father upon his return.

Suspecting the reason for this request, I willingly gave my consent.

In the weeks after the Dawn Treader set sail, I often paced the shore, asking Aslan to watch over this young monarch who possessed such courage and honor.

And in the secret places of my mind, I dared to hope that Caspian might in time look on me as more than a friend.

Father sometimes joined me on these walks, and often when he thought I was not watching I would glimpse deep sadness in his eyes.

Then I could not guess the cause of his distress, but in the years to come I often wondered if he had been granted a glimpse of my future.

Or perhaps he saw beneath my outward mask of calm, suspected that I greatly desired to return with King Caspian to the land which great Aslan favored.

Many weeks passed before I saw the familiar sails of the young king's ship approaching the shores of my home.

Joyfully I rushed down to the beach, and was the first to meet Caspian as he disembarked.

But it was not the same youth who had left me, full of excitement and the spirit of adventure.

Instead there stood before me a grave and more thoughtful king, with eyes that held the dawning awareness of loss.

I did all I could during his sojourn to assuage his pain, and the night before he was to set sail for Narnia he asked me to be his bride.

With joy I consented, and the next morning I left my father's island.

It was a bitter sweet moment, for something told me that I would not see my father until the hour Aslan chose to call me home.

I saw in his eyes the same knowledge. Yet there was also a great joy that I was to be granted the honor of ruling the fair land of Narnia.

I stood at the ship's railing, raised my hand to wave farewell, and my father returned my gesture, offering me a smile of encouragement and a look of deep affection as The Dawn Treader moved away from the shore.

I will never forget Caspian's kindness to me on the voyage to Narnia. He truly understood my sorrow at leaving my father and homeland, and my apprehension at taking up the mantle of queen.

He spent many hours with me talking of our kingdom, sharing tales of his childhood and the battle for Narnia's freedom.

In return I shared tales of the Eastern Ocean, and the many stories my father had told me of his time as a star in the heavens.

On a morning in high summer, the lord Drinian woke me with the news that we were approaching Narnia at last.

Eagerly I rushed up on deck, joining the crew as they gazed intently out at the calm sea.

My first sight of Narnia was one I will never forget. All manner of talking beasts were assembled to welcome home their king, as were the knights and ladies of the court and many friends from Archenland.

Caspian proudly beckoned me to his side, and announced to the crowd that he had chosen a queen.

Nervously I stepped forward, grateful for the support of Caspian and the other sailors as I nodded graciously to my subjects.

Our wedding was a splendid and joyous occasion, and afterwards I began to help Caspian with the business of ruling.

Though I knew much of the history of Narnia, and often journeyed throughout the kingdom to meet and learn more of my people, I could not lay to rest the fear that I would never be worthy of the mantle of queen.

Often the Narnians cast me looks of apprehension and awe, and I knew they were thinking of the tales of my people.

To them, those who dwell in the heavens are a mysterious and powerful race, remote and beautiful messengers of the Emperor who rarely interact with anyone on earth.

So from the beginning I decided to do all I could to show that though my kin dwelt in Narnian skies, we took a keen interest in anything passing on the earth below.

I sought out wise animals and the great scholars of Archenland, eager to know all they could tell me of this land I now would call my home.

In time I made close friends among men and talking beasts, dwarfs and the spirits of trees and waters.

Through them I came to understand that Narnia also is a reflection of the great lion, and in time I learned to recognize the evidence of his presence in the land I now love so fiercely.

Now as I urge my horse into a gallop, I thank Aslan for the strength he has given me, and the love of my consort and friends which has helped me to rule well.

Beside me rides Rilian, eyes alight with joy and the prospect of a day free from court duties spent in the company of friends.

He has spent far too long behind the walls of the palace, training for the day when he will take up the mantle of king.

If only Caspian had been able to join us, then I would be utterly content. But as I know all too well, a king's obligations sometimes keep him from enjoying the simple pleasures so many take for granted.

The morning passes swiftly, and at noon we stop in a forest glade with a fountain at the center.

After much feasting and revelry, Rilian asks me to join him in a Narnian dance popular throughout the kingdom.

But the heat of the day has made me tired, and so reluctantly I ask my son and our friends to withdraw so I might rest.

Sunlight caresses my face, and the gentle summer breeze plays with my hair as I let my mind drift towards sleep.

The sound of distant music and revelry reaches my ears, and I smile at my son's choice of song.

Even as a child, he always preferred stories of the golden age, and the song he has chosen tells the tale of High King Peter's battle with the northern giants.

The sharp pressure of a stone breaks my train of thought, and I quickly shift my position, searching beneath the cloaks spread upon the grass until my fingers close on its rough uneven surface.

Tossing it away, my eyes are drawn to the intricate design worked in threads of gold and silver around the border of my cloak.

It represents three of the Narnian constellations; the ship, the hammer and the leopard.

In those first months after my arrival they often brought me comfort, reassurance that though some things change, my people still remain at Aslan's bidding to keep watch over his children on earth.

Nor has Caspian forgotten my heritage, for often he asks that I tell stories of the stars before the court after the evening meal.

A movement in the grass catches my attention, and I turn my head drowsily wondering what is approaching.

Next moment pain beyond description consumes me, a fiery relentless wave of agony which grows in intensity as I struggle to cry out for help.

At last I am able to force a choked cry from my throat, even as the poison causes every muscle in my body to become locked in rigid torment.

The first to reach me is Maya, a dryad who was the first to befriend me as I struggled to find my place in Narnia.

I am grateful to the lion that she is first at my side, for there are few among her people as skilled in the art of healing as my dearest friend.

She bends over me; eyes full of concern and a hard anger at the serpent who has stolen my life by its poison.

"Elaina, save your strength. Your son is pursuing your attacker and will return soon. Let me help you."

Moments later Rilian returns, eyes downcast at his futile efforts to find and kill the serpent.

I must find the strength to warn him, to tell him that beneath those cool scales is a mind intent on Narnia's destruction.

The look that snake cast my son as it slithered away from his eager blade was one full of desire, and the promise of danger.

I struggle to articulate the words I know will remind him of those nights when he would climb into my lap and request a story.

His favorite was always the story of King Edmund.

Oh Rilian, remember the Just, remember how he was seduced by darkness and how Aslan's power alone gave him freedom and redemption.

Do not let vengeance consume your bright spirit, for it will only drive you into the coils of this evil creature.

Perhaps it is because I'm on the point of death, or the blood of the stars grants me a brief flash of insight.

I see my son captive to the will of this serpent, forced to do her bidding and lead skilled warriors against our beloved nation.

But all of my efforts to warn Rilian are useless, for the deadly venom of this serpent is a poison which is fast sapping my strength.

In my last moments I meet my son's eyes, trying to convey with all my fading strength my love, and the desperate urgency I feel for my kingdom. .

Death approaches swiftly and I can do nothing but welcome its embrace.

My final thoughts as I draw my last shuddering breath are for my beloved king, and the hope that Aslan will give him the strength to endure until we meet again.

And Rilian, my brave and impetuous boy, oh Aslan guard him well and send him help, for if nothing is done Narnia will be lost once again to dark sorcery.

I hear the lion's voice calling me home, and take my final journey in the confidence that though many monarchs have called Narnia their kingdom, they are naught but its keeper and guardian appointed by the true ruler of all.

_Note from the authoress: I had fun writing this chapter, trying to come up with a history for The Star's Daughter._

_Also I recently read The Silver Chair, and wondered what message Rilian's mother wanted to deliver so urgently before she died?_

_So from that idea came this chapter._

_I'm taking a break from this story for a while, as I'm writing ideas for another Narnian tale about some characters from the Chronicles many ignore._

_I'm looking forward to writing this story, as it's going to be a novel and have darker themes _than_ Remember The Four._

_So keep a lookout for a story called In Darkness Born._

_Thanks for reading._

_As always feedback is welcome. _


	21. Chapter 21 Queen Susan The Gentle

This is the third evening I have paced the shore, clinging to the fragile hope that I might find some peace amidst this the cruelest storm of my life.

Since the death of my family in the train accident I've received many sympathetic glances whenever someone learns my name. I dismiss them all, knowing that there is no real compassion behind these false looks of pity, only a pretence kept up for the sake of tradition and decency.

The funeral was the worst, where I stood by the coffins of my family as they were lowered into the graves, and accepted the condolences of strangers and relations knowing that many had hardly known my family.

Of all the relatives who attended, only cousin Charlotte and her family offered me real comfort and support.

When others only spoke useless platitudes and insincere words of reassurance, Charlotte was the one who offered to help me go through my family's possessions, and through her quiet strength and friendship helped me through what would have otherwise been a horrible task.

It is at her insistence that I am here now. I wanted to refuse her invitation, but she and her family had been the only relatives to show me true kindness, and I found myself accepting Cousin Charlotte's offer to come with her family for a few days to the seashore with relief and gratitude.

And so I came with them to this village by the ocean, hoping that for a time I might lay aside grief and find the strength to go on.

It was on our second evening here that Charlotte took me aside as I was about to dress for dinner. Mystified I followed her to her room.

"I meant to give this to you earlier Susan, but with all the preparations for the funeral and arranging to spend a few days here it completely slipped my mind." Seeing my puzzled expression she continued. "Your mother and I were very close, and when she wrote to me saying she was going to marry a soldier I gave this to her as a wedding present."

Sorrow filled my cousin's voice as she unlocked a drawer and removed an intricately carved box. "When we were going through the house after the funeral, I came across my gift to Helen and thought you'd like to have it. I think it would suit you well, as you look so much like her."

Curious now I carefully opened the box and drew back the velvet wrappings. And for the first time since my family's death I felt that wall of ice I had built around all emotion begin to thaw. I could not suppress a gasp of awe and delight as I gazed at the box's contents.

It was a comb. But not just any comb, this one was clearly meant to be worn as an ornament, and was one of the most unique pieces of jewelry I'd ever seen.

Crafted of mother of pearl, it was carved with representations of breaking waves and delicate strands of seaweed.

For a moment I stood frozen with astonishment at the sight of my cousin's gift. Surely this was no coincidence.

Because it stirred memories I have tried so hard to forget.

Memories of a creature born to the sea, a queen among mermaids who gave me the gift of her friendship and shared with me the secrets of the deep.

For she had given me a comb almost identical to the one I now wear in my hair. Accept that Mallo's gift had always reminded me of moonlight shining on a calm sea, and the curves of the waves with which the comb was adorned were far more sensual and graceful than anything a mortal artisan could conceive.

Also it possessed the useful ability to comb hair at the bidding of its owner, and expertly untangle any knots. Often during my years at the Cair I had used it. Fleetingly I wonder what became of it after I returned to England. Had Mallow reclaimed it? Or had it passed into the keeping of another queen or princess who were unaware of its history.

And now on this calm evening, I withdraw my mother's comb and let my hair fall about my shoulders, I recall nights swimming in the ocean accompanied by Mallo and her court, sharing in their music and stories.

The joyful years of my reign as queen, and watching Peter, Edmund and Lucy become what Aslan had named them at our coronation.

The horrible thought comes that if just one had been taken then I might have found the strength to endure.

Ruthlessly I banish that thought, choosing instead to gaze out at the sea under a clear evening sky.

The waves recall to my mind the ancient tale of Odysseus, lost upon the sea unable to return to his homeland because of the fury of a god.

And unlike that ancient hero I have no Circe or Athena to guide me back to my true homeland. I rejected time and time again the help of my brethren, confident that I was destined for success in the land of my birth.

I am Susan Pevensie, once known as Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia.

But now as I gaze out at the endless stretch of sea, I give myself other names which reflect my life.

I was once like Helen of Troy, desired by kings and princes of many nations, the cause of war between my kingdom and the fierce land of Calormene. Their crown prince sought to kidnap and make me his queen by force, and had it not been for the grace of Aslan and the efforts of Archenland's lost heir to the throne I might have been forced into a loveless marriage.

But now I am like the ancient heroine Penelope, waiting for the return of her beloved Odysseus.

I know I will wait in vain, for unlike Penelope I know that death has taken those I love best to a land I can never reach. For I have denied its lord.

Aslan, the great lion, a king far stronger and more terrible than the ancient lord of the sea rejected and cast me from his presence, declaring that I would never return to Narnia.

How well I recall my anger at that proclamation, and my resolve to put away all joyful memories of Narnia and learn to live in the land of my birth. My pain and confusion at the great lion's rejection, and my endless speculations about what I could have done to displease him.

Hadn't I done my best for my kingdom? Hadn't I worked hard to become the queen he had named me at the coronation?

Didn't I always strive to live as a child of the lion should?

Why then had he so callously cast me away from his presence?

These were the thoughts that made me into the person I am now, shaped me into a being concerned only with receiving the praise and acclaim of others. For secretly I hoped that if only I could receive enough then Aslan might relent, or this great emptiness which has grown so much worse since my family was taken might at last be ended.

It is the great lion's grace and favor I now seek, so that I might someday be reunited with the family I drove away.

The waves carry a faint echo of the music I learned to know from Mallo, and I yearn to follow their call. For they call to me with a sweet song more captivating than anything a siren could weave, offering me hope and the promise of peace.

Often I heard it said in Narnia that Aslan comes from over the sea, and I wonder if he too follows her ancient call to the land he created through the power of song.

The sea might call to her creator; urge him to once again pass over her to the land for which he gave up his life.

But I know as I turn away from the shore to seek my bed, that it will never do the same for me. For I have forsaken Narnia for England, and nothing will call me home.

Oh Aslan, forgive your broken daughter, and grant that I might at least learn your name in this world. Perhaps then I will not be tormented by this constant reminder of what I so foolishly abandoned for the fragile glories I once thought so appealing.

I long to once again hear the music of water without this soul deep pain, to revel in its song as I used to as a queen at midnight under a Narnian sky. I wish I could speak with my mermaid friends, for apart from my siblings they truly understood me and welcomed me as a child of the sea to share in their realm and its secrets.

But I know that those hopes are mere dreams, for I will never return to Narnia. Yet I cannot help recalling Aslan's final words to me, that there is always a door into his country from all worlds, and that he alone can point the way to his land.

Fierce determination fills me as I hasten back to my lodgings. However long it might take, I will find this way, for only then will I be reunited with my family and friends, and once again feel the presence of the lion I've so often chosen to neglect.

Cousin Charlotte meets me as I hang up my coat in the hall.

"Susan, I was beginning to worry about you. Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Yes, and I wanted to thank you, for everything, and for giving me my mother's comb.

It's a beautiful piece. Where ever did you find it?"

"I had it made for Helen by a friend of the family who's a talented jeweler. Your mother always loved the sea, and I wanted to give her something which reminded her of it even though she would live so far from the shore. Then when she told me of how you'd won so many prizes for swimming, I thought it was only right that you take it."

Again that note of deep sorrow entered Charlotte's voice, but this time it held pride and a slight note of reproof. "Your father always said you had a warrior's strength, though you didn't know it and that you'd take up that mantle in your own time. And Helen was always so proud of all her children, and you as her firstborn daughter always held a special place in her affections. Not that she favored you, but if you'd taken the time to talk with her more you'd have seen how much she loved you and her hopes that you'd grow into a gracious and gentle woman. That's what she always called you in her letters to me, my gentle Susan."

It is those final words which break down every barrier. That my mother, who knew nothing of Narnia had called me by the name Aslan had given me on the day he made me queen.

That my father had recognized in me the strength of a warrior, and been confident that I would grow into that mantle in time.

Oh mother and father, I hope you can forgive me, that even from heaven you'll know that your girl hasn't forgotten your lessons and will keep your legacy alive.

Impulsively I reach out and hug this dear woman who has shown me so much kindness, and she holds me as my mother did when I was a child, in a firm yet gentle embrace murmuring words of love and support.

Slightly embarrassed I draw back, but she simply offers me an encouraging smile and wishes for a restful night as I turn to ascend the stairs to my room.

As I prepare for bed I turn my mother's comb over and over in my hands, and let myself recall every bright memory I've fought so hard to lock away.

No more, I promise myself as I gaze at my reflection. Mother and father saw The Gentle in me, and I won't disappoint them, nor my siblings either. I will take up the mantle of queen once again, and hope that one day I'll find my way to Aslan's country and my family.

As I climb into bed and close my eyes, I seem to hear words from another time and world, spoken in a voice warm with approval and affection, the voice of a king addressing his beloved.

"Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen." In that knowledge I surrender to sleep's gentle embrace, knowing that someday I will see my family, and swim with my Narnian friends once again.

And on that day, I will not be asked to return to the land of my birth, for I will already have found my true home.

_Note from the authoress: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but life has as usual been busy and I was having some trouble writing from Susan's perspective._

_For anyone wanting to know more of Susan's friendship with Mallo, check out Chapter 6 of this story, as well as Elecktrum's awesome story Into The West which is where I borrowed the character from with her permission._

_I also took a while with this chapter, as I'm working on another Narnian story called In Darkness Born, and this chapter took quite a bit of planning._

_Unfortunately the idea of the comb wasn't mine, I got it from Mercedes Lackey's novel The Snow Queen, some parts are a bit tedious, but it's still a good read._

_Also inspiration for this chapter came while I was listening to Loreena McKennitt's The Old Ways._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter._

_Thanks for reading._


	22. Chapter 22 Rabadash

_Note from the authoress: Don't ask me where this chapter came from, it sort of wrote itself once I got started._

_In writing this I' was trying to find a way to reconcile the perspective of Susan as a warrior shown in the Prince Caspian movie, and her reluctance to ride to war or take up weapons in the books._

_I know this is a different, perhaps even darker chapter than the other ones in this series so far, blame that on my other Narnia story In Darkness Born._

_I'm having so much fun writing that story too, because it explores the history/mythology behind Tash and the other gods of Calormene._

_I'm really on a roll with that story and might have two more chapters posted this weekend, so if I've caught your interest with this glimpse of the plot I'd love to know your thoughts on my attempt at a Narnia novel._

_Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, I love reading all of your feedback and appreciate every comment._

_After this rather long authoress's note, here's the chapter._

_Enjoy._

It has been twelve years since I returned to Tashbaan, no longer a prince, but a donkey transformed by the will of the lion who rules Narnia.

How well I recall that morning, where I was led by one of my men from the ship through the crowded city to the temple of Tash.

It was a strange experience. If I had been in my true shape, I would have been borne on the strong shoulders of trained servants, my coming announced to all in the ringing tones of a slave so that I might reach my destination swiftly.

Until that moment, I did not realize how highly I prized such adulation; how it became an integral part of my daily life and the power it had to bring me joy.

Instead on that hot morning I was led through the streets like any other common animal, and though the man leading me tried to be respectful I could easily sense his suppressed amusement at my fate.

As I walked those familiar streets, I took the opportunity to glance at the people going about their daily tasks. Never before had I noticed the myriad contrasts which this city possessed. Rich and poor, slave and mistress, maiden and old crone, all moved passed me intent on their business.

To them I was just another donkey, a common beast of burden meant to serve its master without resistance.

Never did I feel the rigidity of my people's culture and customs more than on that endless walk. In every disinterested glance, the hopeless look I glimpsed in the eyes of horses, dogs, and the underlying note of command in my soldier's voice as he ordered me to move faster was the realization that I was nothing more than a servant.

All these brief glimpses created impressions, awakened thoughts which even now I struggle to make sense of, to fit into the philosophy I have been taught from the cradle.

I will never forget the relief when I stood at last before the altar of the great god Tash, and the feel of that foreign power releasing me from its grasp as my true shape was restored.

And yet there are nights when I awake in my royal bed, with the memory of that power as fresh and real as the day it first took hold. How unlike the dark and shackling power of Tash, which demanded service in return for its aid and denied all recognition of feelings like joy or affection.

No the lion's power was something wholly different, a gentle yet unquestionable strength, the strength not born of conquest but of someone who had long ago won the right to command out of love and awesome reverence.

And Tash preserve me, I still long for that power to find me once more, for it offered me something which all my years of service to my Calormene gods has never given. Choice. The choice to taste and glory in true freedom not dictated by custom, but by the deep truths which forged the universe.

It was in seeking to deny those ideas that I was moved to make war against Narnia. That and my fury at a nation's rulers for not recognizing the true worth of one of its queens.

Even now, as I bring my thoughts back to the present, the image of a dark haired maiden holds sway over my thoughts, as I signal for the feast to begin.

The hall is filled with the sounds of laughter and the beat of Calormene drums as my guests enjoy the banquet I ordered prepared in their honor.

Dancers sway and weave intricate patterns as the musicians guide their steps with their songs, melodies I have known and loved since boyhood.

Rage fills me as I recognize the musician's choice, for this song was one I once commanded to be sung in honor of a queen I still cannot forget despite the passage of years.

That bright memory causes me to refuse the tray of delicacies a servant offers, to reject the proffered goblet of wine in favor of useless reflection.

I cannot forget her. It has been years since I saw her face, but I can still recall every exquisite detail.

Even now after so many years, I feel desire stir afresh as I recall her slender form and strong spirit which refused to be tamed.

That was what drew me to pursue her so relentlessly, that she unlike the other women of my race did not simply submit to my desire for marriage, but instead considered my suit carefully and in the end rejected me for love of her people.

But it was her eyes which I recall most of all, for they were the eyes of one struggling for recognition, not as a queen but a warrior.

I did not know that was what her gaze held, until I returned to my people in the guise of a donkey. For I saw that same look in the eyes of Calormene women, and it was then I knew a secret I suspect queen Susan never divulged to anyone except perhaps her Aslan.

They called her the gentle, and yet that was only a fraction of what she was. I know, because I, unlike her siblings and subjects took the time to look beyond that serene mask to what lay beneath.

How well I know what her people would say, if they knew my thoughts. They would call me rash and barbaric, and yet I wonder at their willingness to simply accept what their eldest queen offered. Yet how could they know. Perhaps it takes one skilled in looking beyond pretty speeches, a Calormene noble like me trained not only to concoct a thousand flowery responses, but to look beyond them to the person beneath the masks worn at court.

I more than my brothers became a master at this art, which is why my father often entrusted me with many missions outside of Calormene.

I saw at our first meeting that she had the heart of a warrior, and yet they said she refused to ride to battle because she cared not for bloodshed.

Even now I am amazed that her royal brothers did not suspect the truth, for many tales of their leadership and skill with the sword were often told at my court.

How could they not recognize a warrior in their sister?

I did. For I too have commanded armies, and I know what I saw in their gentle queen was truth. She did not ride to war, because she feared the darkness within, the lengths she would go to to protect her family.

Such was a foreign concept to me, and even now I struggle to comprehend that deep affection she held for her kin and nation.

I saw her skill at those tournaments at her castle,

I know that she was capable of walking amongst the dead and wounded without flinching, as only a queen can walk.

No it was fear which kept her from war, and the expectations of her kin and people which bound her in shackles forged from false assumptions and ancient traditions.

And I wanted to release her from those bindings, to let her be what she was meant to be, a fierce leader and skilled warrior, who would give her all for those she called family and friends.

You wonder then why did I not want the same for my people? Why not seek out another woman of my race with similar tendencies? Because I know that none of them could ever take the place of that extraordinary queen, not if I searched throughout the whole empire.

You Narnians resent my race, for keeping our women confined to specific duties and our poetic ways of speech which you consider to be unnecessary and frivolous.

But I resent you more, for deliberately remaining blind to the skill of a warrior who would have laid down her life for you, if only you had given her the chance to fight.

How quick you were to praise the combative skill of your youngest queen, because she knew and accepted the darkness of which she was capable as an integral part of her soul.

But because Queen Susan never rode to war, you automatically assumed that she would never take up the sword or bow in defense of her people.

It was right that she was taken from you by your Aslan, for I tell you all this now without empty words of flattery to soften this remark.

You were not worthy of her.

You recall her as your kingdom's keeper and mother, treasure a thousand recollections of her kindness and gentle ways.

But I will always remember her as a woman of strength and honor, who for love of her people sacrificed an integral part of what she was destined to become.


	23. Chapter 23 Digory

I know the moment they come to me that rainy evening that they have been made Narnia's chosen four.

Each of them bears that poise, that ineffable quality which tells me that they have journeyed far beyond the circles of this world.

I listen to their extraordinary tale, and it takes all of my strength to remain calm and logical, the old slightly eccentric professor they know and have befriended.

And yet when they leave, no longer can I contain my emotions.

How is it possible for any mortal to feel such a shock of wonder and eagerness, mixed with crushing sorrow and bitter resentment?

I can no longer remain in this room, which has borne silent witness to my many years of study.

I need no candle to light my way, for the route I walk is achingly familiar to me, one I have taken since childhood.

The door yields to my hand and I softly approach the source of my turmoil. How ironic that it was I who ordered it made, lovingly chose every carving and watched as my oldest friend solemnly drew each picture in exquisite and breathtaking detail for the craftsman to carve.

Lovingly I caress the carvings, recalling the journey I took so long ago.

Strange thoughts fill my mind, that I am in this moment like the ancient hero Jason in his last moments of life, recalling past glories as he gently caresses the crumbling hull of his beloved Argo.

Like him I too took an incredible journey to win a prize as precious as the Golden Fleece.

But my reward was neither crown nor throne, but the life and health of my mother and dearest friend and the joyous years that followed.

Those memories are to me more precious than any kingdom could ever be.

I let myself recall those times before her miraculous recovery, where I lived in fear and uncertainty never knowing what was happening because my relations and the doctors thought I was too young.

Oh they were kind to my mother, Aunt Letty especially, but it was kindness born of duty not of genuine affection.

I recall the countless hours where I would sit by mother's bed, as she used the last of her strength to tell me tales of wonder and magic.

It was from her I first heard the story of Jason, which is probably why it springs to mind as I stand before this wardrobe.

Reluctantly I make myself recall my first sight of Jadis, so tall and majestic, bound in powerful spells until a bold adventurer awoke her from her long sleep.

She was my Medea, a queen and sorceress unlike anyone I had ever known, or ever would know again.

How easily and willingly I surrendered to her charms, purposefully recalling magical tales like that of the sleeping princess to excuse my actions of ringing that small golden bell.

It was only after our adventure had ended, that I made myself recall Polly's words, saying that I looked exactly like my uncle Andrew in Charn's grand hall of images, and knew that she had spoken an uncomfortable truth. For when I made that accursed choice, I resembled my uncle in spirit more than physical appearance, let the promise of knowledge and adventure overcome my good sense so that I might learn more of Charn and her queen.

I imagine that Medea also wore that look of joyful triumph as she boarded the Argo on that ancient dawn, confident that Jason was completely in her power.

Just so might that ancient sorceress have looked, when she slew her brother and scattered the pieces of his corpse into the ocean.

And like that ancient princess's lover, I felt Jadis's power to fascinate me begin to wane, as I listened to her cool indifferent remarks concerning the fate of her kingdom.

Not until we returned to my uncle's study and she took him for her slave did I shake off the subtle influence she had begun to weave about me.

But I found the courage and resolve to turn from her seductive promises of endless youth and strength, for the sake of my mother and for love of Aslan.

And despite the wonderful years that followed, I fought a battle within myself, as I struggled to master a nameless longing.

I sought a thousand ways to assuage it, through traveling to far away places and the quest for knowledge.

But even now it remains, beneath the ceaseless flow of every thought lingers the memory of that glorious song of creation, and the awesome majesty of its singer.

Often when I take long walks I pause as a certain tree, or beautiful horse in a field catches my eye. And I am inexorably drawn back to those precious memories of soaring upon the wind, carried by my old friend Fledge with Polly's joyous laughter ringing clear and strong in my ears.

I listened as the four children spoke of my first homeland, and rejoiced that Jadis was at last defeated and Narnia free from her power.

I murmured words of amazement and encouraged them to tell their tales, and at last walked each to their rooms and wished them a quiet good night.

And then my feet automatically took me to that room with the wardrobe I had ordered fashioned from the wood of a Narnian tree.

Now I let myself recall every glorious memory as I walk into the wardrobe.

And am brought up short by its wooden back.

Sudden fury stirs, and I long to shatter that unyielding surface, to break through this barrier until I find the country I love so completely.

And there, in the silence and darkness of the wardrobe I weep for what I can never have, for the sweet torture of memories which will not let me rest even after all these years.

Far better to never have known or heard the name of Narnia, then to go on enduring year after year, always knowing that you will never return.

These children will know this sorrow, I already glimpsed it in the eyes of the eldest girl, and expect that in time she too will wish that she could make the choice I long to make this night.

And her grief will be a thousand times worse than mine, for she had years enthroned as a Narnian queen, whereas I had only two days.

Perhaps she will also lash out in fury, even choose to bury and forget everything associated with her kingdom because she cannot endure the pain.

I more than her siblings will understand that choice, for even now I long to make it. And yet I cannot. For were it not for Aslan, my mother would never have recovered, and all the golden years that followed would have never happened.

I recall the tears Aslan shed for my sorrow, and wonder if he wept not only for my grief then, but for the suffering I would endure in the years to come.

I must cling to that memory, and the knowledge that my creator knows what I am enduring. Yes even now he knows of my sorrow and can give me the strength to continue.

I push aside all of the fur coats and exit the wardrobe, falling to my knees before its intricately carved doors.

I look up reverently at the carving of Aslan, and pour out all my sorrow, loss, pain and anger. I beg him to forgive and restore me, to give me the strength to endure until the day he calls me to his country.

And I pray for the four children under my roof.

I ask that Peter will always remember the mantle of High King, and find the courage to remain an honorable warrior in our world.

I thank Aslan for saving Edmund, and ask that he will never relinquish the mantle of The Just.

I intercede many moments for Susan, asking that she will not be consumed as I almost was by rage, confusion and pain, but remember Aslan's words to her and the four which said that they would always remain kings and queens. I ask that she will keep within her those things which forged her into Susan the Gentle, and not turn from the lion who she watched make the greatest of sacrifices for her sake and the sake of his people.

And little Lucy, I ask that she will never lose that deep faith in Aslan, that she will continue to let his joy be her source of strength and solace.

Rising I walk from the room closing the door softly behind me.

For there is a friend who far too often I have forgotten to ask for help, one who I know will listen and give me support in this my time of great need.

She also has endured much in these long years, and though we often meet Narnia is something which I think she finds too painful to mention.

Determinedly I go to my study and begin to write.

Polly,

It has been many years since I mentioned Narnia to you, and yet I find myself in the position of playing storyteller to you my oldest friend.

You will no doubt remember how I ordered the wood from the tree you and I planted in Uncle Andrew's garden made into a wardrobe. At the time I recall you wondering if it contained magic.

Tonight I received the answer to your question, and I know you will want to hear the story which four children have just told me.

Polly I think you and I must talk, not just about my news, but about those precious adventures we shared so long ago. Perhaps we were always reluctant to speak of them, because it was too painful, or confusion and anger kept us from talking of Narnia because we always knew deep within that we would never return.

Yet I suspect your longing was just as great as mine, and like me you tried to forget or assuage it with pursuits which proved fruitless.

What I have learned this evening has made me realize something. We were given the honor of watching Narnia created, and establishing her protection from Jadis for many years.

By Aslan's help was my mother restored and joy returned to my family.

How have we repaid him?

How have we honored that trust which Narnians placed in us so long ago?

By seeking to forget, by holding stubbornly to pain and anger though it was justified and neglecting to ask for help from the creator of all things.

Tonight as these children told me their story, little Lucy mentioned that we were not forgotten by Narnians, that they kept our story alive and named us as their land's first lord and lady.

How have we honored those titles?

Narnia is a part of us, and we must no longer deny her place in our lives and eternal destinies.

So I ask you as a friend of Narnia, to please come as soon as you can.

I miss you and long to talk of our adventures, and to ask with you at my side the help of Aslan to endure until in his time he would choose to call us back to our true homeland.

Your friend,

Lord Digory of Narnia


	24. Chapter 24 Griffle

The solemn beat of dwarven drums accompanies the sound of marching feet as my people make their way home.

Twenty of my kin are with me, freed by the help of Narnia's king and children who claim to have been sent by Aslan from beyond the world's end.

I scoffed at their tale then, and ten minutes of marching and thinking has not changed my mind in the least.

Oh I know all of the old stories. My people may not be tasked to remember as the badgers are, but we keep alive Narnia's history in many songs and chants sung as we work at our forges.

I know all too well the stories of Aslan, the so called great lion who created Narnia and appointed human kings and queens to rule over all.

But I also know the tales of those who stood against Aslan, who if given the choice would have welcomed the return of Jadis and her power.

Even now there are some amongst my kin both red and black who admire the tales of Jadis, because her power did not fade with the passage of years. They see her reign as one where she favored my people, and kept a firm grip on all of Narnia by the strength of her will and command of dark magic.

To many of my race, her power is considered strong, capable and practical, all things which we highly prize.

Nikabrik was my ancestor, and though I know he was wrong in thinking that the kings and queens of old would not come if called by the magic horn, I agree with many of his ideas.

We reach home just as twilight is falling, and thankfully I open the door to my house and lay aside my weapons.

I glance briefly around my small dwelling, at the many works of art which remind me of the days when I was being trained to work at the forge.

First there are the simple bracelets and necklaces, things which teach every dwarf destined for the forge to wield his tools with the same care and precision as a warrior does his sword.

I let my glance pass over my other achievements, until I reach my sword. Of everything I've made, I consider that to be my best work.

Crafted of blue steel, it is a weapon of strength and deadly beauty which has seen much use in war.

Reverently I lift it from its resting place and slip it into its scabbard.

With determined steps I leave my home and walk to the chief smithies forge.

Even at this late hour I hear the music of hammer and flame as I enter.

Automatically I glance at the many weapons adorning the walls, recalling how as a young dwarf I would ask my father to tell me how each was made in exquisite detail.

For every one has a history, a story to tell which we consider an important event of our clan's lore.

And at the center is a knife forged of blue steel. It holds a place of honor in this collection, because it was made centuries ago by the hands of a king.

King Edmund the Just. Oh yes my clan called him family, named him one of ours after he showed that he was willing to learn our ways and wasn't afraid of hard back breaking labor.

The fact that he saved one of our little ones from wolves also helped to establish trust between him and my people.

Many stories are told of that knife's forging, of how our king toiled many hours over its creation so that he might carry it back to his brother the High King Peter.

That knife had a noble history, saving the High King's life in battle with the fae folk, and breaking the power of Jadis when one of my kin sought to awaken her to help in their battle against Telmar.

Thus the truth of those old stories is right before my eyes.

And yet I turn from them, not wanting to entertain the possibility that they might be true after all.

Because if they are, then I will have to step out into the unknown, place my trust in ancient stories and find within myself the strength to call Aslan my lord and highest king.

And that is a step I dare not take, for it requires me to set aside the firm practical truths on which my life is based, to look to ideas I've often thought far more palatable for centaurs than dwarves.

And yet there are some among my close kin, and those of the red clans who trust in Aslan, look to him as creator and sustainer of the earth and all her riches which we learn to prize from an early age.

How they make this choice to trust I do not know, for I determine as I call my kin to war, that I will trust only in the strength of my people.

Having set my course I leave the smithy and go to make sure that all are ready for the march to Stable Hill.

We march many hours before we arrive at our destination.

I order my people to await my signal to attack, and watch proudly as each dwarf effortlessly conceals himself amongst the crowd of Narnian creatures.

These are skilled warriors, and I am glad to have them with me at what I suspect will be the last battle of Narnia.

With barely veiled contempt I listen to the ape's false speeches, admiring his cleverness in revealing the donkey's part in his plans.

So the king was right when he tried to convince me and my brethren of the ape's trickery. It does not change my mind however, even as I listen to his challenge to every Narnian creature to enter the stable and gaze upon the face of Aslan.

With joy I hurl insults at the Calormene Captain; reveling in his humiliation by those he calls children of mud.

With amusement I listen to Ginger accept, and rush out a moment later a dumb animal.

For a moment my resolve falters, as like all assembled I recall the stories of Narnia's creation, and Aslan's warning that we could lose the gift of speech if we turn away from him and harden our hearts to his voice.

I watch as the young Calormene bravely enters the stable only to never return, and the king tosses the ape into its depths.

It does not take long before battle is joined, and yet I hold my brethren back, knowing that they will wait until I call out the oldest war chant of our people.

The dwarves are for the dwarves.

Many not of our race wonder at our love of that saying, thinking it a mere pledge of loyalty.

But it is so much more. It embodies the earth born strength of my people,

Commands our silence in guarding the secrets of the forge and the techniques which have made our weapons, armor and works of art known and desired throughout many nations.

They are familiar words, words which every dwarf red or black must speak when they march to war. This oath has kept us together when other armies have faltered, saved many a life because we know never to abandon our kin even if they are on the point of death.

The sound of approaching hoof beats reaches my ears, and I know that all the talking horses have been freed to aid their king.

The words are spoken without remorse, for I am convinced that my order is neither cruel nor traitorous, simply a thing which must be done out of necessity.

I command my brethren to shoot every noble horse.

My people are deadly archers, and make sure that each death is swift. I watch as corpse after corpse rolls over lifeless, their dark blood drenching Narnian soil, and nod in quiet satisfaction.

For those horses would have strengthened the Narnian king's forces, and that is something which I won't allow.

I see the looks of shock on the faces of the king and the children, and the glance of pure fury which my kinsman Poggin levels at me from across the battlefield.

What do I care for their victory?

Far better that we give the horses a quick death, for they would have been sentenced to slavery amongst the Calormenes if they survived this battle.

Once again I hurl derisive comments at Narnian and Calormene alike, before becoming locked in furious combat. And then there is no time for thought, simply the use of every skill, every muscle and trick I have ever learned from the weapons masters of my people so that I might live to see the morning.

How long I and my kin fight I do not know, but at last there comes a moment when many Narnians have fallen, and I am being forced towards the dark door of the stable along with my ten brethren.

A soldier grasps me by the neck and carries me towards what I am sure will be my death.

Beyond I see only darkness, and yet I do not struggle as the soldier draws back his arm to toss me into its embrace.

The dwarves are for the dwarves.

This is my answer to any who will try to convince me that I should place my trust in Calormenes, kings, or Aslan.

And I will remain loyal to my clan and that ancient oath even beyond the grave.

_Note from the authoress: Thanks for all the wonderful feedback for the last chapter, I appreciate every comment and the time you took to review._

_How did you enjoy this chapter?_

_I thought tackling Griffle's perspective would be challenging, especially considering how he tries to justify his slaughter of the talking horses._

_Personally I agree with Lewis's assessment of those dwarves as traitors, but in writing this chapter I wanted to try and look at things from Griffle's viewpoint, to explain why he did what he did and his stubborn refusal to acknowledge Aslan._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you've time check out my new Narnia story Wandering Child, which explores the thoughts and story of another often overlooked character, Digory's mother._

_The history of Edmund's knife, and his adoption into the black dwarf clan can be found in Elecktrum's awesome stories Black Dwarfs, Blue River and Into The West._

_Thanks for reading._


	25. Chapter 25 Cornelius

_Note from the authoress: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Things have been busy, and sometimes I've more inspiration to work on other stories._

_I hope this chapter was worth the wait. It can be considered a sequel of sorts to Chapter 14 of this fic, so if you're not familiar with that tale it's a good idea to read that chapter first before taking a look at this story._

_For those following In Darkness Born, I'm having a hard time with _the_ next chapter. For some reason I can map out ideas and write almost completed scenes for parts which are at least five chapters ahead, but the current chapter is being very stubborn._

_Thanks again to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story, I appreciate all of your support._

_Enjoy._

I have faced many dangers throughout my life, but as I wait for Miraz to receive me I cannot ignore my anxious thoughts and fear of the usurpers wroth should he discover my true purpose. I wish like my pure dwarf kindred that I had a weapon to lend me reassurance, but my sword and bow were taken from me at the palace gates. For the thousandth time I pray to Aslan that my disguise will prove adequate, for if Miraz learns the truth I know that my head will soon be separated from my shoulders.

Miraz is no fool. His path to the throne was drenched in the blood of noble lords slain on his orders, even the prospect of murdering his own brother did not keep him from taking up the mantle of ruler. If Leonora had not been killed by fever I know that she would also have shared the same fate.

Thoughts of the young queen momentarily calm my fears, as I recall those long ago days where I told her tales of Narnia, of magic and wonder and the choice to place faith in Aslan. She always enjoyed my tales, indeed I know that had she lived I would not be here hoping to pass my knowledge to her son.

My thoughts turn to my meager belongings, and the exquisite tapestry which rests at the bottom of my pack. I've lost count of the times I have gazed at the legacy of my old friend's life, marveled at her skill and artistry in creating such a beautiful representation of the history of Telmar and Narnia. For the thousandth time I wish that she might have lived to know her son, that she could have gifted him with this tapestry that she poured so much of herself into when weaving each story. Instead I am fulfilling her final wish, to find a way to be close to the young prince and in time tell him the stories which his mother learned to love so deeply.

My musings are abruptly interrupted as a servant informs me that Miraz is ready to receive me.

I approach the throne and bow respectfully, then brace myself for the barrage of questions which I know Miraz will have prepared. They come in an endless stream, so fast and furious that I suspect Miraz is deliberately doing this to cause me to make a mistake. I answer each one calmly, drawing upon a lifetimes worth of study, of lore learned from peasants and nobles alike, until at last this false king asks the question I am dreading.

"As tutor to His Highness Prince Caspian, you will give him instruction on the history of Telmar and our conquest of Narnia. Tell me Dr. Cornelius, what are your views on those ancient fairy stories which some still believe?"

I must be careful. One wrong word, the slightest hesitation and I know that I will not live to see the dawn. Oh Aslan give me wisdom, so that I might teach another of Telmar's royal house the truths of your creation. When at last I speak every word is carefully chosen, spoken in tones of the deepest respect.

"My lord Miraz will surely not wish me to speak of those tales before our young prince. Like many in Telmar I am aware of the old Narnian stories, and as you know I have lived long and studied the lore of many nations. Yet in all that time I have never encountered any dwarves, dryads or centaurs, and so as a learned man I have concluded that such creatures no longer exist, if indeed they ever lived."

You who read this account may wonder at the ease with which these words flowed from my lips, perhaps even call me a traitor to all that is Narnia in your thoughts. The truth is that it was so easy to speak those proclamations with clinical detachment and the attitude of one who has forgotten hope's blessed strength long ago. For so long I had searched, waited and sought evidence to corroborate those beloved tales, only to be greeted by half formed accounts and a few precious fragments of history which I guarded as fiercely as a dragon does his treasure. So it takes little effort for me to pretend indifference to Miraz's inquiry which was meant to entrap me into betraying even the slightest hint of loyalty or faith in the old tales.

A slow smile illuminates those hardened features, and I know that my prayers have been heard.

I am led to the schoolroom where the young prince is waiting. He tries to hide his surprise, but I am long accustomed to reading the faces of men. He did not expect such a corpulent elderly tutor, with the light of mischief and an eagerness to impart knowledge evident as I step forward to greet my new pupil. No doubt he was expecting a stern and upright Telmarine, who would accept no nonsense in his schoolroom and would make every lesson a dull unpalatable experience. I determine then to use all of my skill as a storyteller to keep my young prince interested, to nurture that bright spark of intelligence I glimpse in his face as he greets me with a courteous bow and a hand outstretched in welcome.

His dark eyes meet mine, and I stifle a gasp at the wealth of emotions this boy presents for those skilled in the art of observation and deduction to read. I know his story, everyone in Telmar and what remains of Narnia is well aware of the history of this young prince. I read that tale in all its stark truth within the gaze of this gentle youth. Sorrow is there, a grief too deep to voice that he has been denied the chance to know the loving parents he is bound to only through the few scraps of information which servants give out of pity tempered with fear. Confusion is strong, a child's wonderings that his uncle does not like or care to be near him, which have hardened over time into calculation and the first sparks of rage. Beneath these emotions lay the embers of guilt and betrayal that his only friend and beloved nurse has been sent away because of his careless words. There is also a keen intelligence, a desire to know and learn which I intend to see satisfied as soon as we are left alone.

I look closely at the face of my young prince, as he opens the book I have assigned for his lessons in politics. He has his mother's gentle nature, and her thirst for stories. Yet there are also hints of his father's rigid sense of honor, of courage and the strength and determination to rule well. Aslan grant me the wisdom to walk the fine line between treason and duty to Narnia and her creator without faltering.

I continue my work with Caspian, and discover that he is an eager student always willing to learn and ask sensible questions. But it is during a history lesson on the great wars of Telmar that he asks the question I have been waiting to hear ever since our first meeting.

"Please, Doctor, who lived in Narnia before we all came here out of Telmar?"

My thoughts turn to long ago, to the accounts of Narnia's four beloved sovereigns and the names Aslan gave each at their coronation. I recall how the highest of all kings gifted the eldest boy with the title Magnificent, and gave to him the clear northern skies of Narnia to watch over and love.

The eldest sister Aslan likened to the radiant southern sun, a comparison which I often think ironic whenever I recall the tale of how Prince Rabadash sought her hand in marriage and what followed as a result of that suit.

To young king Edmund was given the great woods of the west, and It was through them I wandered for many weeks before discovering the greatest and most sacred of all Narnia's treasures. Perhaps Aslan was seeking to remind Edmund that it is wise to know the darkness of which all are capable, for those woods were not only beautiful but full of mystery and darkness veiled.

To the youngest queen was gifted the vast eastern ocean, a task which I often think reflected Aslan's wisdom. For never was there a queen who shared such close accord with all creatures.

Now I know what I can do to keep the history of Narnia and her four kings and queens alive. Nothing could be more natural for a tutor to give his pupil a lesson in astronomy. I must choose a tower where we will not be overheard, and still be able to watch the night sky in peace. And so I watch in secret the routes taken by those set to guard the castle when evening falls, and in time memorize their weekly schedule. I even consider pouring over old maps of this Telmarine fortress, but disregard that plan lest those in Miraz's confidence suspect my true reason. At last I decide on the western tower as the perfect location, and so one warm spring evening I awaken my prince and conduct him to my chosen refuge.

We remain atop the tower for more than an hour, as I speak of the truth of Narnia's history and urge my young friend to rule with wisdom and grace whenever he receives the mantle of king. Silence reigns as he considers my words, and I know it is time for me to fulfill an old promise given years ago to a friend who awaits me in Aslan's country.

"I have another reason for bringing you here my Prince," From the folds of my cloak I withdraw a bundle wrapped in fine silk. Carefully I pull back the wrappings, and unfold the tapestry which Leonora gave to me on her deathbed. "This was made for you by your mother and my friend Queen Leonora. Like you she loved the old stories of Narnia, and before she died she made this for you so that you would have something of hers to treasure. I know she wanted to leave you this as a testament to her faith in Aslan, and a token of her love for you."

Caspian takes it from me reverently, for this is the first time he has ever been gifted with something that belonged to the shy queen I was privileged to call my friend. He traces each thread lovingly, and I smile as his calloused fingers linger on the depiction of the four being crowned by great Aslan. I know I need not urge him to keep this gift secret, already he is treating his mother's legacy with the care and tenderness which is only bestowed on the greatest of treasures.

Two months pass, in which our lessons atop the old tower continue, until that evening in early summer when a son is born to Miraz.

I know what must be done, for I have planned for this moment ever since receiving the news that the queen was with child. And so I cast one of the first enchantments ever taught to a fledgling magician, a spell which ensures that the prince's servants will not disturb him until long after he has taken flight.

As soon as it has taken hold I rush to awaken Caspian.

He follows my instructions in silence, though I know that he is anxious and longing to ask why I have dragged him from his bed.

It is only when we have reached our familiar hiding place that I tell him he must flee, and give to him the most sacred treasure of Narnia.

In silence we descend to the castle courtyard, where the prince's horse awaits.

I grasp his hand in farewell and he urges Destria forward, with a command in which gentle coaxing is mingled with suppressed excitement that he will at last see the world beyond the castle walls. I watch my rightful king and friend gallop across the drawbridge to safety, and offer once again the prayer I have given for this innocent youth since the hour of our first meeting.

"Aslan, guard this boy the child of my dearest friend and your servant Leonora. Guide his steps and raise him up to be a monarch like the kings and queens of old."


	26. Chapter 26 Christoph

_Authoress's note: Hello everyone. I know it's been a year since I've updated, but I haven't abandoned this fic. For this chapter I'm bringing in elements of E. T. A. Hoffmann's story The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, written in 1816. I hope you enjoy the chapter and would as always love to hear what you think. _

I have been walking for many days, driven by the need to escape the memories of the life I was forced to leave behind. I travel by the secret ways known only to mice, secure in the knowledge that none of my kin will ever dare to venture so far from home. Perhaps I am the first of my people to make this long journey. If only things were different, how I would have enjoyed these past few days which could have been spent in the company of friends as we explored new lands. Instead I am alone, for like everyone else they have cast me aside, not because of what I am, but because of what I have done.

Once my name was known amongst all talking mice, and I had the respect and honor which is the right of any mouse born to noble parents. As the eldest I was expected to grow up a strong and clever mouseling, so that in time I might take up the mantle of leader and adviser to the royal family. But unlike my father who had become a master of the sword, I was fashioned for quite a different destiny. Instead I was blessed with the gift of magic, a rare occurrence amongst talking mice. I was sent to study under the greatest enchanters of our people, and eventually was appointed Court Magician to the queen. How well I remember that day, and the proud smile which my mother's face wore as our queen gifted me with the traditional silver circlet. It had lain within its velvet wrappings for many years, waiting the time when another mouse was born with the gift of magic.

Ah if only I had known then, the price which such honor would demand, or that by accepting the queen's offer I would one day be exile from the kingdom I loved and had sworn to protect. And yet looking back I ought to have suspected that something was amiss when the queen summoned me, for she was a monarch whose love of cruelty was well known. She wasted no time in giving me her instructions, commanding me to seek out the infant princess of the human kingdom just beyond our borders.

"Take care that you are not seen," she warned me as I inclined my head in acceptance of her orders. "The young queen knows of my desire for vengeance, because she ordered the death of my seven sons. So my clever magician you must be cautious, for she has placed many cats and serving women about the cradle to watch for danger." It was then that she revealed to me the cruelty of the curse I was to cast, one which would doom a mortal to remain trapped in a hideous form, until a person was found who could love them in spite of their ugliness. If the victim my queen had chosen had been worthy of such a fate I would have gladly obeyed, but to bring such misery to an innocent human child was unthinkable.

And so I refused, knowing that the cost for my disobedience would be great. I heard the words which every talking mouse hopes will never pass the lips of his kin. Words which we are taught from the cradle along with all other customs of our kind, in case any dare to break our laws and defy the commands of a leader. Every talking mouse was told never to speak my name again, and I am sure that my tail would have been cut off if my mother had not intervened. Like me she too was a respected subject of our queen, and perhaps it was only her years of faithful service which kept our monarch from issuing the ultimate punishment.

I did not realize the merciless cruelty of which my queen was capable, until the moment my exile began. It was my mother who was ordered to walk with me to the entrance of the royal burrow, while the members of the queen's court hurled insults at my back. I will never forget the look of mingled pride and sorrow which my mother gave me as we warmly embraced, nor her whispered hope that I would find a new home and friends. I hadn't the heart to tell her that such wishes were futile, for there are precious few talking mice willing to accept one who has been exiled into their tribe.

With such gloomy thoughts as my companions I continue my journey, until at last I find myself exploring territory with which I am not familiar. Now I have only my magic to help guide me, and it is drawing me towards one of the ancient places of power. Curious I follow it's insistent pull, for I have often wished to linger at such magical places so that I might learn all that they have to offer. Eventually I emerge from an old burrow onto a steep hillside atop which rests a strange altar of stone. Cautiously I approach, drawn by the siren call of magic and the hope that I might find other mice blessed with the gift of speech. As I draw near, I quickly stifle a squeak of excitement, for before me stand about twenty talking mice in the midst of a whispered conference. Unwilling to interrupt I move closer, curious and yes, eager to hear the voices of these distant kin.

"We must be careful my brethren, for you know what the queen will do to us if she even suspects that we had anything to do with freeing our true king. I want no useless chatter while we are at work, and I expect you to be as swift as possible. Now in the name of Aslan, let us go forward."

I watch as the oldest mouse finishes his speech and the group scurries to obey their leader. Who is this king they go to honor? What sort of ruler welcomes even the small animals as his subjects? So absorbed am I in my thoughts, that I do not notice when one of the young mice approaches me paw outstretched in welcome.

"Brother, come and join us." It has been so long since I have heard those precious words, or even felt the warmth and comfort of offered friendship since my exile began.

I find a place at the rear of the procession next to my companion, and together we approach this strange altar of stone. One by one each mouse steppes forward, and begins to gnaw at the cords which bind the king of beasts.

My whiskers quiver in alarm, as I catch the scent of young humans mingled with the smell of death. Every instinct urges me to turn and run, for humans have ever been enemies of our kind. But before I can spring away, my companion lays a restraining paw upon my back.

"Be at ease my friend. These daughters of Eve are the chosen of great Aslan, and are prophesied to bring about the downfall of the false queen Jadis." He speaks the truth, for these mortal children possess a dignity and poise far beyond their years. The eldest sister's face is wet with tears of grief, even as she draws the smaller girl into a comforting embrace. The fair haired child is no less valiant, and possesses a purity and innocence which reminds me of the baby princess I was ordered to curse.

Soon it is my turn, and I willingly move forward to do what I can. I begin to gnaw at the cords about the lion's mouth, and immediately realize that this is no ordinary rope. Scarcely have my teeth begun their work, when the taste of dark magic begins to fill my mouth. I find myself doing something I would have never thought possible during my lonely exile, thanking the queen who cast me out of her kingdom. For it was at her insistence that I studied the darkest of magics, and can now put that knowledge to use in freeing this noble beast. I force myself to ignore the discomfort of unraveling such an evil and complex spell, determined to return the kindness of this new tribe and help the one they love so dearly. My task seems endless, for every strand I gnaw, it seems yet another is always there to take its place. Nor is this the hardest part, for woven into every fiber is the magic meant to hold this great lion's soul captive. The conditions are harsh, demanding that one who has committed no treachery be slain in a traitor's stead. I pour all of my magic into the task set before me, hoping that it will be enough to break this cruel enchantment.

No one moves to interrupt me, and I continue my work for what seems like hours. The last fiber snaps just as the dawn chorus of birds begins. Exhausted I rejoin my new friend, and together we watch in awe as the ancient magic of the table is shattered, and the lion is miraculously restored to life.

I watch as the two human children rejoice at the return of their king, and make ready to ride him to war.

As they eagerly climb onto his back, Aslan's piercing gaze finds me amidst the crowd of talking mice. Within those eyes I see an offer of true friendship, coupled with a look of measureless gratitude and love. And I hear the words which without knowing it I have longed to receive ever since my cruel exile began.

"I welcome you to Narnia, Christoph my son." Joy inexpressible fills me, for Aslan has given me a gift beyond price. A new name, one which will tell everyone that I too am now a friend and bearer of the hope which Aslan offers to all who seek his face.

_Authoress's note: The name Christoph means Bearer of Christ. Instead of trying to come up with a name for my character similar to the ones which Lewis created, I decided to have Aslan give Christoph his name at the end of his story. In writing this tale, I hope to show the disgrace of having your name forgotten, is just as dishonorable for a talking mouse as having his tail cut off._

_Also keep a lookout for a new story written in response to a review from Rthstewart. It's based on my chapter from Rabadash's perspective, and explores what Susan is thinking during his visit to Narnia. It will be called_Brynhildr's Choice, and I hope to post the first chapter this weekend.

_Next chapter, a Maenad shares her memories of the four._


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